


Dead Ends

by Philosophizes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sky High (2005), Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Aliens, Fluff, Kink Meme, Multi, Nyotalia, Pottertalia, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:29:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophizes/pseuds/Philosophizes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every author I've heard of has those fics that you start, and they just sit... and sit... and sit on your computer while you try to make them go somewhere. Eventually you move on in the hopes that <i>one day</i> you can return victorious and full of inspiration to them.</p><p>These are the fics whose day never came.</p><p>1. Sututz'i Abechiho (Meme de-anon)<br/>2. Hetalia Club (Meme de-anon)<br/>3. Witchy Things<br/>4. Jeddah<br/>5. Hades<br/>6. "Nyotalia Fic"<br/>7. "Harry Potter Crossover"<br/>8. "Sky High Crossover"<br/>9. L'Angela<br/>10. "Fluffy Gerita"<br/>11. Volterra<br/>12. The Nation and the Soldier<br/>13. Elise<br/>14. Visitation Rights<br/>15. Mortshaw Close<br/>16. The Berliner</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sututz'i Abechiho

                  Tuya and Suxa Kim arrived at Intergalactic Immigration and Tourist Authority, Earth Terminal, with their child Suya in tow.

                  They filed into line for arrivals from the Mirsux system, and eventually came to a desk with the nameplate ‘Ehkinqotwaa Hel Qotwaa’ on it.

                  Ehkingqotwaa took their papers, looked over everything, and handed everything back, along with a few thick folders.

                _‘[These are your identification and cover papers, as per Section 12343.94705098 of the Terran Intergalactic Immigration and Tourist Authority Terminal Charter, Rules, and Regulations,]’_ a recorded voice intoned in the Universal Language. _‘[You will read these packets and memorize their contents. From now on you are to treat them as your life story. It is imperative that no natives of this planet discover your identity as a non-native. Please proceed to the next station to receive your Brainwave Scrambler Cloaking Devices TM.]’_

                They looked over the papers as they proceeded to the next station.

                “[It appears that, in the language of this planet, I am] ‘Kim Seok’,” Suxa said.

                Tuya looked at the packet, as well.

                “[We are…] Ko-re-an. So-uth Ko-re-an. [Where is that, do you think?]”

                “[No idea.]”

                They reached the next station.

                “[Nationality of origin,]” a very bored looking ‘Xuzacaeheeli Portov Yubadaeheimi Qostowyuz’ said.

                Suxa looked frantically down at the papers.

                “[Uhm-]”

                “So-uth Ko-re-an!” Tuya told Yubadaeheimi.

                _“South Korean,”_ Yubadaeheimi corrected, and handed over three metallic devices. “[Keep these on your persons on all times. Violation of this law is a criminal offense and will result in deportation. Please proceed to the information pavilion with the map to select your place of residence.]”

                The Kim family proceeded once more.

                “[Suya,]” Suxa ordered. “[Hold on to me.]”

                Suya pouted, but did as told as they reached the group milling about around the giant, light-up world map.

                Some Panruvian was attempting to reason with what appeared to be the being in charge of the pavilion.

                “Fucking stupid!” the pavilion chief was saying. “Fucking bastard!”

                “[It sounds quite angry,]” Tuya remarked.

                “Oh, Tony’s _always_ angry!”

                The Kims turned to find themselves confronted by what appeared to be a native.

                “[What is it doing?]”

                “[I believe that’s something called] ‘smiling’.”

                “Yep! I smile a lot! How are you? Oh, welcome to Earth! I hope you enjoy it!”

                “[Tuya, he knows the local language,]” Suxa fretted. “[Do I look stupid right now?]”

                “[Well, I think _it_ understands _you,_ dear. Perhaps you should cloak, out of courtesy? I believe they also have a translator function.]”

                “[Good idea. You and Suya, too.]”

                They spent a few moments attempting to figure out the cloaking devices, the being who had sudden accosted them still smiling.

                “[Let me help you!]” it said suddenly, and grabbed the device. A few buttons were pressed, and Suxa suddenly looked human.

                “[Oh, thank you.]”

                He _sounded_ human, too.

                “[You’re welcome! May we please use] English, [my Universal is bad?]”

                “[Oh, um-]” Suxa looked at where he knew the device was, at a loss of how to turn on the translator function. “Of course.”

                Well- it was automatic. How convenient.

                “I am Su-”

                He hesitated.

                What if he wasn’t supposed to use his not-Earth name?

                “Kim Seok?”

                “ _Ciao_ , Kim Seok!” the being exclaimed, and grabbed the parts of him that were disguised as hands. “I’m Feliciano Vargas!”

-

_(Earlier That Day)_

_‘Yo! You’ve reached the cell of Alfred F Jones! He’s off being a hero right now, so if you’d leave a message he’ll get back to you as soon as possible! Cool? Cool.’_

                _Breeeeeep._

 _‘_ AMERICA!Pick up the phone!We’ve talked about this before _\- Berlin is_ not _a dumping ground for fucking_ ALIEN NAZIS! _You know how much shit this is causing my brother? No, you_ don’t, _because YOU_ KEEP SENDING TH- _’_

                _Beep._

                _‘America, I understand that managing alien immigration and tourism is a very hard and stressful job, and I am deeply sorry for disturbing you and in no way mean to implicate that you are unable to successfully manage your responsibilities- but Tokyo Tower is being attacked._ Again. _’_

                _Beep._

                _‘Mmm… I assume there is a good diplomatic reason for the tripod aliens in Siberia,_ da _? It looks very…_ Wellsian _to me, America. Why do you not send me nice androids, hm? I know that Asimov was very American, but-‘_

                _Beep._

                _‘_ Mon Deiu _, Alfred!_ Why, WHY? _My_ rose beds! _My_ cafés! _I cannot_ move _for-‘_

                _Beep._

                _‘Bloody hell, America, don’t you_ tell _them impersonating ghosts in the Tower doesn’t count as gainful employment? This is the seventeenth-‘_

_Beep._

                _‘Hi, Alfred! You know that thing we were talking about? How come we don’t get any nice alien immigrants! We’d even settle just for tourists!_ Pleeeeease? _It will be good for our economy! Could you tell them that? We don’t bite, I promise! We just want them to eat our food and see our buildings and be happy but not flirt with our women, because that’s_ our _job, and the Vatican_ still _hasn’t gotten back to us on the theological implications of extraterrestrial life-’_

                _Beep._

                Alfred sighed and wished that he hadn’t been the one to volunteer to host the Intergalactic Immigration and Tourist Authority. It was _not_ worth the added stress.

                He went straight to the text messaging.

                _‘Prussia where else would I send Nazis? You two know how to deal with them’_

                Send.

                _‘Ooooh, rough_ _L  Sorry dude but you can handle it right? Maybe you should put a forcefield around it!’_

                Send.

                _‘LIKE HELL I’m giving you alien robots Ivan’_

                Send.

                _‘France I have no idea what you want do I actually need/want to know’_

                Send.

_‘Oh come on Arthur it gets you more tourism! I’m helping out your economy_ _J!’_

                Send.

                To the actual phone function now!

                The phone buzzed a bit, and then the line opened.

                “ _Ciao,_ Alfred!”

                “Feli! I got your voicemail!”

                There was some clattering on the other end of the phone, and America figured it was probably lunchtime or something. Or maybe Veneziano was just hungry.

                “Oh, _good!_ So, have been able to encourage anyone?”

                “Err…”

                He eyed the doughnuts he’d bought last night for breakfast this morning.

                “Well, you see Feli- it’s- well-”

                “What, what? Do they not like us? Would they rather visit France and Spain?”

                “No no no, it’s not quite- ugh. Okay, look. As soon as any of them see the word ‘Italy’, they panic and freak out and run away.”

                There were a few seconds of confused silence.

                _“Whaaaaaaaaat?”_

                “They did just start coming after the whole Pict invasion thing, you know? Everyone knew the Picts were coming here next and they were all like _‘Earthlings are doomed. Glad it’s not us’_ , but then the Picts did their whole thing and then _un_ did it and went back into space preaching, like, happiness and peace for everybody, you know? It kinda freaked the rest the universe out a lot. And they know it’s all because of _you;_ _so_ ….”

                “But, but-” Feliciano was starting to sound suspiciously teary. “But we’re so _nice!_ ”

                “Yeah, you’re so nice you changed an entire race of merciless hiveminded space-conquerors into generous individualistic space-missionaries of happiness. That’s _kinda_ a little freaky, dude. They don’t want to come anywhere _near_ you.”

                Veneziano sighed, sounding heartbroken.

                “Sorry, dude. I can’t really do anything about it.”

                “Hey… you have a meeting this afternoon at the Terminal with the Pictionian princess, right?”

                “Yeah, you want me say hi for you?”

                “No, no that’s okay. _Ciao_.”

                He hung up, and Alfred had his doughnuts.

-

                “[Is] _ciao_ [Gulean?]” Tuya muttered. “[I don’t think it’s in the translator’s dictionary.]”

                “ _Ciao_ is _‘hello!’_ ,” Feliciano told them. “It’s just not English- that’s what the translators are programmed for.”

                “It’s only programmed for one language?” Suxa asked in trepidation.

                “Mm-hm,” Feliciano said. “Language algorithms are _hard,_ you know! And originally it was only Pict-English-Pict-”

                “[We praise our beneficent overlords for their generosity and wish them the best of luck in their crusade of happiness,]” everyone in the area recited quickly.

                Feliciano just looked confused, but plowed on.

                “-and then it had to go Universal-English-Universal and the Universal side had to be hooked up to all the dictionaries of all the non-Terran languages and dialects and slang _ever_ and Earth doesn’t have the right sort of dictionaries for _any_ language to English yet and it’s going to take _centuries_ probably to get some unless that new internet gleaning thing works and we’re really lucky the English one got put together so quickly, really.”

                “So what do we do here?” Tuya asked.

                “Well, this is where you pick the place you’re going to live!” Feliciano told them. “You pick one of the lit-up countries on the map, and then you put where you’re from and who you’re supposed to be and the machine gives you a paper map of the cities and towns and things you can live in and then you pick one and tell the computer what it is and then it gives you a list of districts and you pick one and then it gives you houses and apartments and you pick one and then you get it and go move in!”

                “[He talks a lot,]” Suya said.

                “[Don’t be rude, Suya, he asked us to speak in] English,” Suxa scolded. “Where would you recommend, Feliciano?”

                “Oh, oh, I-”

                “Fucking guido! Leave stupid!”

                “Tony!” Feliciano snapped. “That’s not funny and it’s really rude and I don’t like it! I don’t care if you do that to everyone it’s not good and I should report you to Alfred and _I’m not leaving!_ ”

                _“Leave!”_

                “ _No,_ _grigino_!”

                The Kims stood around awkwardly.

                “[I think they are insulting each other?]” Suxa said uneasily. “[But I’m not sure.]”

                “My job!” Tony screamed. “Not yours! Fucking leave!”

                “Don’t you know any other words!”

                Tony glared at Feliciano as best he could, then ignored him.

                “[So, where would you like to live?]” Tony asked the Kims.

                “To _nyyyyyyyyy,_ ” Feliciano whined. “I can’t understand what you’re _saying!_ ”

                “[Ignore him,]” Tony told them. “[He’s not supposed to be here.]”

                Tuya gasped, and for a second wondered at the way this fake body reacted to surprise.

                “[Is he _actually_ ] _human?”_

                “[Not really. But close enough.]”

                “[Where would you suggest we live?]” Suxa asked.

                “[Anywhere’s fine,]” Tony said dismissively. “[But I don’t like] England.”

                “[So we don’t have to go to this] South Korea?”

                “Korea’s nice!” Feliciano piped up. “Kind of way too enthusiastic, but nice! England’s okay, I guess.”

                “[It’s better if you don’t go to the place you’re pretending to be from. You don’t know the customs or anything- a lot of immigrants stay here in] America, [because it’s easy to pass anything _‘strange’_ off as some cultural thing. No one questions it; and if they do, you can complain and people will take your side because of] _‘minority rights’_.”

                “[ _Really?_ Amazing!]”

                “[Isn’t it?]”

                Suxa shifted nervously.

                “[There’s… just one thing,]” he said.

                Tony cocked his head.

                “[We’d been told not to go to] Germany [because _Sututz`i Abechiho_ often visits there. Is] Germany [near] America [because I don’t want us to be in any danger from him! I never even want to get _near_ him; I’d be too scared of what he might do!]”

                Tony looked at them for a moment, and then laughed uproariously.

                “Ooooh, I _really_ like Germany!” Feliciano exclaimed. “You should go, you should go! They’ve been complaining about all the extraterrestrial Neo-Nazis but you seem nice so you should go and make them happy!”

-

                People bowed and scrambled out of the way as America and the Pictonian princess walked through the halls.

                It made America uncomfortable. He didn’t like bowing.

                “So, how have things been here on Earth?” the princess asked, voice as ethereal as ever.

                “Well enough, I guess,” Alfred replied. “I mean, Tokyo Tower keeps getting attacked and Russia’s accusing me of trying to kill him through immigration selections and Prussia keeps getting pissed about the Nazi aliens, but I can’t really do anything about any of that.”

                “Are they _unhappy?_ ”

                “No, no, not that much,” America said quickly. When the Picts heard that people were unhappy, they started taking things _very_ personally; in an uncannily Belarus-like way.

                Veneziano hadn’t _fixed_ the problem so much as shifted it, everyone had come to discover.

                “They just wish they’d get less violent immigrants, I guess.”

                “I shall order some peaceable creatures to inhabit their homes!” the princess declared.

                “You _really_ don’t have to do that. Just let everyone pick what they want.”

                “Yes, yes!” she agreed cheerfully. “Individual choice is the road to joy!”

                “Yeah,” America said, feeling significantly less enthusiastic. “Exactly. How’s space?”

                “Our defense of your system is going very well!” the princess told him happily. “We have assimilated every ship looking to come and do unpleasant things in your vicinity!”

                “That’s… nice.”

                “Oh, very. We have shown them all how non-violence is the most direct path to happiness! And now we are much more prepared for the next round.”

                They exited the hallway and entered the main terminal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a joke here and it's that Sututz'i Abechiho is Feliciano. The aliens were supposed to realize when America came in with the Pict Princess and greeted him that the person they'd been talking to was not a fellow disguised alien but the person they're deadly terrified of meeting because he managed to completely halt the Pict invasions.


	2. Hetalia Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard crossover material. There was a prompt for a Breakfast Club one so I tried to fill it. The cast is female Germany as Claire (The Princess), Feliciano as Bender (The Criminal), Canada as Andrew (The Athlete), South Korea as Brian (The Brain), and Belarus as Allison (The Basket Case).

_Saturday, March 24. World Academy H, New York City, New York, 10017_

_Dear Mr. Kirkland-_

-

Luise Beilschmidt sat in the front seat of her grandfather’s car.

“I’m sorry, _Groβvater_ ,” she said.

The older man sighed.

“ _Suβling_ , if you wanted to go shopping that badly, you should have _told_ me.”

He turned in his seat to look at his granddaughter.

“I would have taken you- you _know_ I used to take Gilbert out of school to go to the car shows when _he_ was a student here.”

“I know, _Groβvater_ ,” Luise said quietly.

“I’ll take you after Saturday detention is over,” her grandfather told her. “To make up for missing your day out with your friends. Now go inside and have a good day.”

Luise shouldered her purse, picked up her lunch, and got out of the car.

-

Im Yong-Soo sat in the back seat of his mother’s car.

His mother glared at him through the rearview mirror.

“Is the _first_ time or the _last_ time I will be driving you to school on a Saturday for something that is not an academic extracurricular activity?” she demanded.

“The last, _Eomeoni_ ,” he replied meekly.

The electric locks on the doors clicked open.

“You get in there, young man, and you _use_ that time to your advantage!”

“But we’re not supposed to do anything but sit and do nothing-”

“You _find_ some way to study, Yong-Soo!”

He slid towards the door facing the school entrance.

 “ _Yao_ was never in trouble like this!”

“Yes, _Eomenoi_ ,” he agreed.

“Now get out!”

Yong-Soo scrambled out of the car as quickly as he could.

-

Matthew Jones-Williams slumped in passenger’s seat of his father’s truck and tried to huddle further into his varsity jacket.

His father’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “It’s okay to screw around, Mattie- _I_ screwed around when _I_ was in school, _Alfred_ screwed around when _he_ was here- but that it’s _not_ okay when you get caught doing it. You got that?”

“I’ve got that,” Matthew said. “I’ve _got_ it, okay? _Maman_ already _had_ this talk with me-”

His father rounded on him.

“You _want_ to miss a game?” he demanded. “You _want_ to blow your scholarship? _No_ school’s going to give you the full ride that _Alfred_ got if you turn into a discipline case! You _want_ that?”

“No, sir,” Matthew replied, hand inching towards the door handle.

His father straightened up and took a deep breath.

“Right then. Just do this, and we’ll consider the whole mess over with.”

Matthew opened the door and stepped down onto the parking lot pavement.

-

A young man in sunglasses sauntered across the parking lot, hands in the pockets of his black pants; school-issue jacket unbuttoned in _total_ violation of the dress code.

A car screeched to a halt inches from his knees, and he didn’t even flinch. He kept walking as a girl with long, platinum blonde hair, in a sadly mismatched, patchwork version of one of the approved female school uniforms got out of the passenger’s side door and slammed it shut behind her.

The car idled for a moment, waiting for the boy in the sunglasses to get out of the way. As soon as he was clear, the driver floored the gas pedal. The tires squealed across the asphalt as it sped off, drowning out the sound of the doors closing behind the last two arrivals to Saturday detention.

-

Luise walked into the library and headed straight for the first desk, nearest the door, in the double columns of three set up for studying. Yong-Soo skittered in a few seconds later and started fidgeting in the seat behind her.

Matthew scuffled through the door and glanced around for a moment before hovering awkwardly next to Luise, eyes flicking between her and the other empty seat at the table. Luise rolled her eyes and sighed before pushing the chair towards him slightly. Matthew sat down and attempted to disappear inside his jacket again.

The boy in the sunglasses pushed the door open and dragged his arm over the circulation desk as he walked by, knocking everything over. He grabbed a few books that were sitting on the end and dropped his glasses in his jacket pocket as he went over to Yong-Soo. Silently, he pointed at the table opposite.

The other boy slid out of his seat and slunk over to the chair that had been indicated.

The boy with the sunglasses sat down in Yong-Soo’s vacated chair, stuck his feet up, and opened one of the books as the girl with the long platinum hair entered the library. She sat down with zero fuss at the back table, behind Yong-Soo’s new seat.

-

The sound of footsteps entering the library made everyone but the boy with the sunglasses and the platinum-haired girl look up.

A man, the detention teacher, stomped in, holding a stack of paper.

“Well, so I see you all managed to bloody well show up on time,” he said.

Luise raised her hand timidly.

“Um, excuse me, Mr. Kirkland. I just want to say that I’m sorry for skipping class and I won’t do it again. I don’t think I belong here, so- can I go no-”

“It’s seven-oh-bloody-six,” Mr. Kirkland said, completely ignoring her. “ _I’m_ stuck with _you_ wankers for another eight hours and fifty-four sodding minutes. Principle Hohenzollern tells me that the purpose of detention is for you all _‘to ponder the error of your ways’_ -”

The boy with the sunglasses closed his book loudly and slammed it down on the table.

Luise winced.

“-but I’m damn certain that it’s just to torture me. Since I want to cut down on the stupidity I have to endure on what _should_ be my bloody day off, there will be _no_ talking-”

He glared at Luise, like he expected her to start shooting her mouth off.

“- _or_ getting up!”

Yong-Soo tried to look desperately like he hadn’t been trying to move a chair further away from the person who’d kicked him out of his seat.

Kirkland glared at the boy with the sunglasses.

“And _you-_ ” the teacher declared, striding over and snatching the books away. “will _not_ bloody well sleep through this whole thing.”

He turned to the rest of them.

“This week you gits will be writing an essay to me on just _who_ you all bloody well think you are. It must be at _least_ a thousand words and in proper grammar, so shut up and get started.”

“You’re making us take a fucking _test_ on a _Saturday?_ ” the boy with the sunglassses demanded.

Mr. Kirkland ignored him and slapped a piece of paper and pencil down on the desk in front of him before moving on to do the same to the others.

“And _‘proper grammar’_ means that it will _not_ be the same word repeated one thousand times. _Is that clear,_ Mr. Vargas?”

“ _Perfettamente_ ,” he answered.

“Good. Maybe you’ll all bloody well _learn_ something about yourselves doing this, like if you want to spend next week here.”

Yong-Soo raised his hand.

“Mr. Kirkland I know that answer already, it’s no, _absolutely **not,**_ because-”

“Shut your bloody mouth, Mr. Im.”

“Yes sir,” he said, and slid down so far in his seat that his shoulders nearly disappeared under the table.

 _‘Im?’_ Luise mouthed at Matthew. He shrugged.

“My office is just across the hall,” Mr. Kirkland continued grumpily. “Do any of you gits have any questions?”

“ _I_ have a question,” Vargas said.

Kirkland glared at him.

“Can the whole fucking world tell you haven’t bought any new clothes in a damn decade?”

“ _Next Saturday,_ Mr. Vargas, you will be looking through fashion magazines and answering that very question. Now get working.”

He left for his office.

-

The five of them sat in awkward silence as they settled into their seats. Luise took off her black leather gloves and set them on the table. Yong-Soo fiddled with the pens he’d brought. Vargas whipped off his red silk scarf; and Matthew squirmed in an attempt to get comfortable in his seat.

Slowly, they all became aware of a low muttering from the corner. One by one, they turned around to stare at the girl at the back table. Her hands were hidden in her lap, and she was staring at the table top with such intensity that it was a wonder that it didn’t burst into flames.

She gave no indication of noticing their stares, but started to rock back and forth in her seat, her long platinum hair swinging slightly.

 _“Marriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarriedmarried,”_ she chanted to herself, a little louder than before.

Everyone quickly turned around again.

Matthew looked blankly at the wall and tapped the pencil Mr. Kirkland had given him against the desk.

_T-ta-ta, t-ta-ta, t-ta-ta…_

“Who do I think I am?” Yong-Soo asked himself under his breath, bent intently over his paper. “Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?”

“You going to have a fucking _identity crisis_ for the next nine damn hours?” Vargas demanded.

“N-n-no,” Yong-Soo stuttered, jerked out of his concentration.

_“Bene.”_

Vargas shrugged his trench coat off- it made him look slightly less like a mafioso, but not by much. The black suit vest was still visible from under his uniform jacket; and he hadn’t touched his gloves yet.

He grabbed the pencil Kirkland had given him, glared at it disapprovingly, and threw it at Luise’s head. It sailed over her bobbed blonde hair by about a foot and clattered against the far wall.

Leaning back in his chair, he started singing the instrumental part of some song.

_“Duuuuuuuh, duuuuh, duuuuuuh; duh-duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh-”_

_T-ta-t-ta-t-ta-t-ta-t-ta-t-ta-_

“ _Ach Gott_ , this is really happening to me,” Luise said, and buried her face in her hands.

-

“No, _shit,_ ” Vargas said loudly, leaning forwards and widening his eyes comically wide. “You going to be the _next_ fucker to have an identity crisis?”

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Matthew snapped, whipping around.

The other boy winked at him, smirking.

“You’re a _sexy_ man when you’re angry, Matthew,” he purred.

Matthew blushed furiously and glared at him for a second before turning back around and crossing his arms.

“Hey, bookbrains,” he said.

Yong-Soo looked up and blinked, pointing at himself with one of his pens uncertainly.

“Yeah, you. Go close that damn door and let’s see how long it takes for varsity jacket to scream for more dick.”

“Hey!” Matthew exclaimed angrily, turning around again. “Hey!”

Vargas tilted his head slightly and cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“If I lose it, you’re going to be paying dental surgery bills for the next three years!”

“Really?” Vargas challenged.

“Really,” Matthew said, and turned back around; muttering _‘fag’_ under his breath.

The chair behind him screeched.

“You want to say that to my _face,_ _stronzo_?” Vargas asked loudly.

“Just shut up!” Luise said.

“Uh, hey, guys,” Yong-Soo said. “We should just start working on our essays-”

“You might spend all your Saturdays here, but that doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole!” Matthew told Vargas, having turned around again. “So fuck off!”

“ _Oooh,_ and because _you_ don’t _you_ have that right?”

“I said _fuck off!_ ”

Luise reached over and tucked on Matthew’s jacket, pulling him back to facing the right way in his seat.

“He’s just doing it to get at you, ignore him.”

“You can’t _possibly_ ignore me, _donna bella_ ,” Vargas said, blowing her a kiss.

Luise staunchly ignored him.

“So!” he continued, clapping his hands together once. “You two! Are you… _friends?_ ”

No response.

“Hmm… _dating?_ The Princess and the Jock.”

Still nothing.

_“Lovers?”_

He leaned over the table, leering.

“Come on, Mattie, tell me- are you two _fucking_ in the closets when no one’s looking?”

 _“SHUT UP!”_ Luise screamed; just as Matthew replied with _“GO TO HELL VARGAS!”_

-

 _“HEY!”_ Kirkland yelled from across the hallway. “ _What_ _the bloody hell_ are you wankers doing in there?!”

Matthew and Luise turned back around; and Vargas got up from his seat to sit on the ramp railing next to their desk.

“Let’s close that damn door,” he said. “Can’t have any sort of fucking fun with that bastard Kirkland spying on us every other damn second.”

“But he said to keep the door open-” Yong-Soo tried to protest.

“Who the fucking hell cares?” Vargas asked.

“For the last time, Vargas, shut up!” Matthew snapped. “There are four other people in this room who don’t want to-”

“ _Mio Dio_!” Vargas exclaimed melodramatically, placing a hand over his heart in faked wonder. “It can count! I _knew_ you had to be smart to play-”

He sneered at Matthew.

_“Hockey.”_

“Who gave _you_ the right to judge anybody?” Matthew demanded.

Luise bit the inside of her lip.

“You know, Vargas, you don’t even _matter,_ ” Matthew continued. “If you disappeared forever, no one would care. Nobody would even _notice._ ”

Vargas stared hard at the back wall for a few seconds, blinking a couple times.

“Well then,” he said, sniffing once, like he had to blow his nose. “I’ll just go and join the fucking _hockey_ team on Monday.”

Luise tried to hide a smile; and Matthew snorted at him.

“Maybe the newspaper club, too,” Vargas continued. “I bet they’re a fucking _riot._ Student council-”

“Who’d take _you?_ ” Matthew wanted to know.

“Oh, I’m _hurt._ ”

“Do you know why people like you always insult everything?” Luise asked.

“Hell do I care?” Vargas asked.

“It’s because you’re scared.”

“ _Dio_ , you _i ricci_ are _so_ smart!” Vargas told her. “That’s _exactly_ the fuck why I feel the need to point out the bullshit everyone damn well spews everywhere!”

“You’re a coward at heart,” Luise continued.

“I’m in the math club,” Yong-Soo said.

“You’re scared that no one will accept you, because you’re different, so you make yourself feel better by telling yourself it doesn’t really matter,” Luise told him.

“And the chemistry club,” Yong-Soo said.

“Oh, because the rest of the world being a bunch of _fucking bastards_ doesn’t factor in anywhere, huh?”

“You don’t know that, not for certain. You don’t really know any of us.”

“I don’t know any _pervertiti_ , either, but that doesn’t fucking mean I’m going to hang out with _those_ shitfaces, either.”

“And the Mandarin Honors Society-”

“ _Un secondo_ , _bella_ ,” Vargas told Luise. He looked over her head at Yong-Soo. “What the _fuck_ are you going on about over there?”

“Uh-uhm,” Yong-Soo said hesitantly. “I… I’m in the Math Club; and the Chemistry Club; and the Mandarin Honors Society and the Scholastic Bowl team-”

“ _Ehi_ , _bella_ ,” the other boy said, looking at Luise again. “ _You_ on the Scholastic Bowl team?”

She colored slightly and looked down at the table.

“That’s… That’s an academic group.”

“And what the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Her mouth was open for a few seconds, no sound coming out.

Matthew jumped in.

“They’re not like the other groups. Like _sports._ Stuff like the Anime Club, and the Math Club, or the Art Club or Chorus-”

“Are you saying that _hockey_ is better than the _arts?_ ” Vargas demanded.

“It’s better than sitting around after school all day and solving _mole_ equations.”

“That’s not all we do!” Yong-Soo exclaimed.

“What, so you do _other_ sorts of math?” Matthew asked.

“We party,” Yong-Soo said firmly.

The other three stared at him. The girl in the back continued carving a map of Minsk on the underside of library desk with her empty pen.

 _“You?”_ Vargas said disbelievingly. _“Party?”_

“At the Hilton, at the end of the year. We have a dress ball and bring dates and have a party.”

“You have a tame prom,” Matthew translated.

“ _No._ We party.”

“Dude; that does _not_ count as partying.”

“Wondered where you academic sorts fucking went every year,” Vargas said.

“Partying doesn’t mean you have to get _drunk_ and _high!_ ” Yong-Soo maintained.

“ _He’s_ the only one getting high around here,” Matthew said, jerking his head at Vargas.

Vargas pulled a face at him, but Luise cut in before the other boy could respond.

“If you don’t all stop talking Mr. Kirkland is going to hear and come in here!” she said urgently.

“Yeah, ‘cause that would be an absolute fucking _disaster,_ ” Vargas replied.

Matthew went a little pale.

“He could have me suspended from the next game,” he realized with sudden horror.

“That’s your whole life, isn’t it?” Vargas asked. _“Hockey.”_

“You don’t have to insult me!” Matthew snapped. “I’ve _committed._ What have _you_ ever committed to, huh? Pissing as many people off as possible? Setting the record for _‘Most Detentions in A School Career’_?”

Vargas glared at him.

“Hey, c’mon, _Vargas._ Tell me; _what?_ ”

One of the metal filing cabinets in Kirkland’s office slammed shut loudly, and they heard the sound of footsteps moving across the floor.

-

Before Luise and Matthew had any time to react, Vargas had slipped between them and crouched down in the empty air, as if he were sitting on an invisible seat.

Luise stared at him, and Matthew scooted back in his chair slightly- and then Kirkland’s footsteps moved out of the office and down the hallway.

After a few seconds, Vargas snorted, and his smirk came back. He straightened up and sauntered over to the library doors.

“Hey; hey!” Yong-Soo said. “Those are supposed to stay open!”

Vargas turned around to face him, now walking backwards, and pointed.

“You. Bookbrains. _You’re_ the one who wanted us to write our fucking papers; so set a good example and _write your damn paper!_ ”

“What are you _doing?_ ” Luise hissed nervously.

“ _Leaving,_ I hope,” Matthew muttered.

Vargas reached the doorway, popped his collar, and leaned out slightly, checking the hallway for signs of Kirkland. Seeing none, he pulled a folding chair from its position near the door and stood on it, fiddling with the door locking mechanism near the top of the frame.

“Uh, woah, wait, that’s _school property,_ ” Yong-Soo said. “You’re not supposed to mess with that!”

Vargas placed one hand against the door and pulled out a piece of the mechanism, pocketing it. He stepped off the chair, placing it back into his original spot, then turned and hurried back to his seat. The door swung shut loudly behind him.

“Fix it!” Matthew demanded as Vargas walked by him.

“I don’t take any fucking orders from you!”

“ _Fix_ it, asshole!”

“Like _hell!_ ” he replied, sitting down in his seat and examining his fingernails. “Shut the _fuck_ up!”

_“Fix the door!”_

“Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up shut _up-_ ”

-8

Kirkland had just finished washing out his ‘coffee’ thermos in the school water fountain and refilling it with his own ‘special brew’ when he heard the library door slam.

“Bloody hell!” he screamed, and stormed down the hallway, shoving the door open. “Which one of you gits closed this door?”

“Why the fuck would it be one of us?” Vargas wanted to know. “ _We’re_ not supposed to move.”

Kirkland glared at him for a moment before looking at Luise.

_“Who?”_

Her eyes widened and her jaw clenched up fearfully, but she managed to reply.

“I-I was just sitting here!”

Kirkland took a deep breath and walked a few steps further into the room, until he was within the tables.

“Who. Closed. That. Bloody. Door!”

“ _Nobody_ closed the fucking thing, something probably fell the hell out,” Vargas told him.

“It just closed, Mr. Kirkland,” Matthew said, apparently having weighed his options and deciding that lying to a teacher was safer than admitting that he hadn’t stopped it.

The teacher turned to the girl in the back.

“Who bloody well did it!”

She stared at him, and then slowly slid down the seat of her chair until only her ice-blue eyes were showing, staring coldly at him.

“Don’t fucking bother, she can’t even form a damn coherent sentence.”

Kirkland turned around to face him. Matthew and Luise exchanged a look.

“Give me the bloody thing.”

“What damn thing?”

“The thing you took out of the door, you little wanker!”

“I don’t have any fucking _‘thing’_ ; whatever-the-hell it is probably fell out all by its damn self, go check the fucking floor-”

“Vargas, you are _three bloody seconds_ from-”

“U-Uhm, excuse me, Mr. Kirkland?” Luise asked timidly. “What would this _‘thing’_ be, exactly?”

“Be _quiet,_ Beilschmidt!” he ordered, and stalked back towards the door.

Vargas’s head snapped around to look at Luise, his expression holding only a hint of confusion. She made a face back and shrugged, wordlessly telling him not to read too much into it, and turned back around as Kirkland shoved the door open.

He shoved it again a few times as it started to swing back at him, and then grabbed the folding chair Vargas had been standing on earlier.

“Uh, Mr. Kirkland, that chair isn’t heavy _or_ stable enough to keep the door open,” Yong-Soo said.

Kirkland jammed the front legs of chair against the bottom of the door and let go.

The chair shot sideways as the door started to swing shut, catching the middle pole in the doorframe and folding up before clattering to the floor out of sight. The door slammed shut seconds later, and they could hear Mr. Kirkland curse loudly, kick the door as hard as he could, and yell in pain, swearing up and down as he tried to grab his foot and fell sideways into the other side of the door instead.

Everyone in the room snorted, except for Vargas, who managed to confine himself to a self-satisfied smirk.

Kirkland re-entered the room with as much dignity as he could, letting the door close behind him and appearing to give it no notice, trying to salvage his pride. He looked around for a moment.

“Matthew Jones-Williams!” he called, and Matthew looked up, startled by the traces of anger in his voice.

Kirkland pointed at the area of floor in front of him.

“Get out of that bloody chair this instant!” he ordered.

Matthew stood hesitantly and shuffled over to the door.

“Hey, why the fuck does _he_ get to get up!” Vargas demanded. “That’s not _fair!_ If _he_ gets to leave his chair the _rest_ of us should too!”

Kirkland ignored him completely, ordering Matthew to pick up the other end of the display stand and shove it in the door. The teacher glared at it, and then at Matthew.

“Don’t just bloody well _stand_ there, climb over and get back in your seat!”

Matthew looked at the completely blocked entrance for a moment, then opened the other door and walked through.

Kirkland started to sputter angrily, but then stopped, slowly turning red.

“Mr. Kirkland!” Luise called nervously, hand shooting up as she had a sudden thought. “Isn’t that against the fire code? What if there’s an emergency?”

For a moment, his face twisted up in what was likely frustration and anger- then his expression cleared a little.

“Then go through the other bloody door!” he snapped.

“But sir, what if the other exit gets blocked by something?”

The angry expression came back, and Kirkland looked furiously at Matthew, who had lingered uncertainly when Luise had started talking.

“Get that bloody table out of the door!”

“There are fire exits on both sides of the library,” Yong-Soo said quietly.

Vargas glared at the back of his head as Matthew sat back down.

“I am _not_ fooled by you, Vargas,” Kirkland said ominously. “I know it was you! I know what your family is like!”

He turned to walk away.

“Fuck you,” Vargas muttered under his breath.

Kirkland spun around and stalked over to him, looming over his seat.

“ _What_ was that?” he demanded.

Vargas leaned back in his seat and tucked one gloved hand into the his pants pocket.

 _“Fuck. You,”_ he said loudly, clearly.

“Another detention, Vargas!”

He rolled his eyes.

“ _Mio Dio_ , what a tragedy-”

“The _next_ Saturday!”

“Can’t make it, that’s the feast day of St. Domnia of Terni and St. Ardalion-”

“And the next for making bloody stupid excuses!”

Vargas shot up in his seat.

_“You heathen bastard!”_

“Five Saturdays from now Vargas! I’ll have you for the rest of your school career if you don’t shut your bloody mouth!”

“Like _hell_ I’ll stop for you!”

 _“Six;_ and you’d better be bloody well _grateful_ because this will keep you from going to prison like your brother!”

Vargas’s eyes widened angrily and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, hands clenching.

 _“Stop it!”_ Luise exclaimed, spinning around in her seat. “ _Anhalten; bitte!_ ”

Kirkland fixed him with an even more intense glare.

“ _Are you finished,_ Vargas?”

“ _Don’t talk about my brother that way!_ ” he screamed.

_“Seven!”_

**_“I HATE you and I hope you burn in hell you motherfucking bastard!”_ **

“ ** _Eight!_** _Eight_ you sodding pie-”

“Vargas, just shut up already!” Matthew said desperately. “ _Two months_ of detention?”

The other boy inhaled sharply.

 _“You think I damn well_ care? _”_

“Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what you want everyone to believe, Vargas,” Kirkland said, jabbing a finger at him. “But _I know you._ _You_ just want everyone to think you’re _untouchable._ You want them to think you’re the _‘tough guy’_.”

He started walking away.

“ _Two months,_ Vargas. You’re here every weekend until _May._ ”

Kirkland pointed out the door.

“I am going back to my office and the next time I have to come in here there _will_ be suspensions!”

-

A few hours later, everyone had given up on amusing themselves and was attempting to sleep.

Kirkland walked back in.

“Who needs to use the lavatory?” he asked grudgingly.

Everyone raised their hands immediately.

“Two minutes for the young men and _Vargas._ Three for the young ladies.”

-

After they had returned, and Kirkland had gone back to his office, the rules of detention were once again flagrantly violated.

Matthew was using the back desk that didn’t have the strange girl sitting at it to do his static stretches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to do a twist on the personal revelations but it stalled so they never got written, but they were in my notes for the fic. Basically, each of them has a reason that they ended up in detention; but they're all also dealing with issues of their older siblings' reputations and holding a secret that reveals them as actually a different 'character role' than what they appeared to be.
> 
> Luisa: skipped class to "go shopping", older brother Gilbert is a spoiled rich kid, she's actually The Brain- she was at the library while she was "shopping" and was captain of the Scholastic Bowl team before she transferred.   
> Feliciano: pulled the fire alarm, older brother Lovino is in jail, he's actually The Princess- a hopeless romantic who likes all the home economics type classes.  
> Matthew: was bullying Marco (Cuba) in the locker room, feels like he has to live up to older super-jock brother Alfred, he's actually The Basket Case- he plots world domination in his spare time, in detail.  
> Yong-Soo: brought alcohol to school, older brother Yao was the smartest person ever to go through the school and everyone is expecting him to be like Yao, he's actually The Criminal- he commits shoplifting to relieve stress.  
> Natalya: 'caught' with a knife on school property, older brother Ivan has real mental illness problems, she's actually The Athlete- she brought the knife to school and blatantly used it because detention is the only way anyone at the school would willingly associate with her. Her only friends are on her hockey team, which is a club sport she captains on the other side of the city.
> 
> There was also going to be a cute little scene where Luisa and Feliciano find out they knew each other way back in preschool- the teachers always pronounced 'Luisa' like 'Lewis' and Feliciano's middle name Andrea was printed on the class rosters instead of his first name. So Luisa remembered Feliciano as 'that little girl Andrea' and Feliciano remembered Luisa as 'that little boy Lewis'.


	3. Witchy Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this really vivid dream of some English town on the sea and the day England came to visit there'd been this weird horrible murder and he and the local witch ended up paranormal investigating it and it turned out the vampires that England was certain he'd gotten rid of centuries ago were still around. It was Stephen King's _Salem_ , but with less 'everybody dies' and also in England and some sort of big action scene at the end.
> 
> Anyway since it was me trying to write a dream it all died very quickly.

Virginia Ryan awoke one early November morning with no memory of what she’d done the day previous. Her boots were muddy, her socks were wet, and she was sleeping in clothes that smelled like brackish river outside.

                Perturbed, she got out of bed and immediately checked out the window. Everything seemed in order- her little English fishing village was just as she remembered. Anxious still, she began laying charms against fairies- not her usual practice, but a witch, even one as minor as she, should _never_ forget something so simple as what she’d done with her time.

                Virginia had no appetite for breakfast, and instead went downstairs to open the shop.

                Right on time, the village filed through for morning tea and coffee on their way to their holiday work in the larger towns nearby- when fishing season came around, February to October for salmon, April to September for sea trout, most would stay to help with all the little things that needed fishing, and in the summer only those few who had steady, well-paying jobs elsewhere would still commute. The village would be flooded with tourists looking for a little seaside ambiance, and the village would provide.

                “Coffee and a kiss from the prettiest witch there is?”

                Virginia snorted at her fiancé and took his money, then gave him a good morning kiss.

                “Abram Pearce, you are _insufferable_.”

                “Anyone told you the news yet?”

                “News?” Virginia asked, starting on a new pot of coffee.

                Abram sobered.

                “Do you want good or bad first?”

                Virginia froze.

                “There’s bad news?”

                “Of the worst sort.”

                Abram took a deep breath.

                “Mr. Anderson found Martha Clarke on the rocks this morning with her throat cut,” he said quietly. “He called the police out in the city- but don’t spread it around just yet, nobody’s told her mother.”

                “Martha Clarke…” Virginia whispered. “Really? But- she’s hardly ever in town, she works at that boutique mall-”

                “Mr. Anderson thinks that’s it’s somebody from out there. Rather hear the good news?”

                “Please.”

                “Some Londoner showed up early, early this morning. Dresses like a lord and throws around money like it too. He took a room out at the Anderson’s- that’s why Mr. Anderson was up and about to, well…”

                “Oh.”

                Virginia handed him his coffee, then told him to wait a moment and went into the back room, rummaging about on the shelves for a moment before she found the box she was looking for.

                “Here,” she said, returning and handing him the necklace she’d taken. “A protective charm. Be… be safe at work today.”

                Abram smiled at her.

                “Will do, Miz Witch. See you this evening.”

-

                Arthur Kirkland sat on the bed in the room he’d rented at the village’s small inn and listened to the fairies chatter.

                _‘Fish and fish guts, too much salt-’_

_‘Little colored glassies in all the windows horseshoes over all the doors-’_

_‘No fun no fun can’t have fun with witches ‘round-’_

                “A witch?” he asked aloud.

                _‘One now, lots before,’_ Ainsel told him, silencing all the other fairies. _‘England **much** better than little village witch, barely fey at all.’_

                “I thought all the fey blood was gone in my people.”

                Ainsel shook her little head at him.

                _‘Always some, always some. Weaker and weaker every year, but here people **believe.** ’_

                Well, _that_ was a pretty little problem to say the least.

                “And I don’t suppose that you take full advantage of that?” he asked the fairies sourly.

 _‘No horses to tangle or babies to steal-’_ one of the fairies complained. _‘But the witch had a ride last night over the river and on the rocks through the trees and the graveyard yes she did!’_

                “And you’ll not do it to her again, you hear me?” Arthur ordered sternly. “Now show me this witch so I can apologize for your behavior!”

                The fairies tutted and flitted but led him down the stairs, Ainsel claiming her customary position on his shoulder as senior fairy of the ever-changing troupe who took continuous advantage of England’s _‘hospitality’_.

                “Bothersome little buggers,” he muttered to himself.

                “Can I get anything for you, Mr. Kirkland?” the landlord asked as he navigated his way through the sitting room.

                “No thank you, Mr. Anderson. I’m just out for a look around town.”

                It was a pleasant enough little village. Very rustic still, but well-loved and well-lived. The ocean was hidden over a forested rise to the southwest, and a wide rocky river made its way from a great shallow pool at the bottom of town towards the ocean; a stony reef and small falls at the pool’s far end marking the village boundary and the fishing yards just upstream of both. The inn property sat just on the edge of the pool at the bottom curve of the sloping main street.

                The fairies took him down the lower curve following the river instead of up towards the rise. There were some houses here, but mostly storefronts, nearly all dark now because of the morning hour or the tourist off-season. An electric pharmacy sign glowed a little, and there was a general store, but the fairy troop swirled past both to clutter around an asymmetrical building oddly isolated a ways down.

                _‘Witch, witch!’_ they cried. _‘The witch put up charms salt and iron witch witch you ruined our fun!’_

Arthur just smirked to himself. _Someone_ knew what she was doing.

                The window had painted lettering on it, a little chipped from where the first word had been changed sometime in the past- _Virginia’s Teahouse and Café_

                Under it, in smaller letters- _Charms and Potions sold_

                And then again, yet smaller- _Magical advice given_

Arthur couldn’t help but be a little surprised. It had been a long, long time since he’d seen a practicing witch advertise openly in his rural villages.

                There were no hours posted and no one seemed to be in the shop except for a woman cleaning up. He knocked on the window.

                She looked up, surprised, and opened the door.

                “Ms. Virginia?” he asked, taking his hat off.

                “Yes?”

                _‘Bad witch bad witch bad witch!’_ one of the newer fairies in the troupe screamed, and divebombed at her face.

                Virginia flinched away and started to raise a hand to swat-

                _Her fey blood can’t be **that** thin,_ England thought to himself. _If she can see through fairy glamour._

-but Arthur had a faster reaction time, and caught the angry fairy in his hat.

                “Ainsel,” he said, lifting his hat up to shoulder level. “Take care of this.”

                _‘Will do,’_ she replied and picked up the dazed fairy from inside the hat. She flew off, calling on the rest of the troupe to follow.

                Virginia stared at him, mouth slightly open as she looked for words.

                “I came to apologize about my fairies,” he told her. “Usually Ainsel keeps them well enough in line, but the troupe just cycled out and there are a lot of them who haven’t been in this world for a very, very long time and want to keep up the same sort of trouble they did before. I was told this morning that they took you for a ride.”

                “I- I thought they might have,” Virginia managed to say. “Would you like some tea?”

                “Always.”

-

                In the forest on the rise over the village, there was a house. People knew it was there, vaguely- you got to it by a road off the one the main street through town turned into as it left the village limits towards the seashore. In another place, it might have been a hang-out for teenagers up to things their parents had told them not to do- but why go to a house in the woods (older than it looked though nobody knew) when you could go to the beach instead, and hide in the rocks near the tide pools?

                So the house stayed undisturbed; and no one ever noticed the back road from the manor house that connected through to the small city where the villagers went for their off-season jobs.

The occupants liked it that way.

-

 The police arrived in the village around nine-thirty in response to the call from Mr. Anderson about Martha Clarke. Mr. Anderson went around to the Clarke house after he’d given his statement to break the news to Mrs. Clarke.

Minutes later, Mrs. Clarke burst through the door of Virginia’s shop.

_“Ms. Virginia! Ms. Virginia!”_

“Oh dear,” Virginia said quietly, and slipped out from behind the counter.

Arthur turned in his seat at the counter itself to watch.

“Ms. Virginia- please, _please-_ ”

“Mrs. Clarke-”

“Martha’s _dead!_ My Martha- Please, Ms. Virginia, you’ve _got_ to come, come do your fairy magic and find out who _killed_ Martha, or _curse_ them, or-”

As Virginia tried to explain that the scope of her magic stopped at minor protective charms and the occasional magical cure for an infection or sickness, England finished his tea and put together the basic details from Mrs. Clarke’s interruptions.

He left the teacup on the counter and slid off his stool to introduce himself.

“Mrs. Clarke,” he interrupted, bowing slightly. “My name is Arthur Kirkland, and I believe that my powers are more along the lines of what you seek.”

Mrs. Clarke looked at him suspiciously, then glanced at Virginia.

Virginia thought about it a moment and shrugged. She didn’t know much about the man’s powers- but at the very least, he could see the fairies and was on good terms with them, and that was something she didn’t have.

Mrs. Clarke took them down to where the police were preparing to leave- they’d called an ambulance out to take Martha’s body to the morgue, and Arthur stole a look while the police talked to Mrs. Clarke.

Slit throat, drained blood. Nothing particularly exciting.

He made his way down to the rocky shore of the pool where she’d been found. The police had been down here already and declared everything a lost cause- Mr. Anderson had moved the body completely, and there was no trace of blood anywhere.

Arthur couldn’t find any either, even with a judicious use of magic- which wasn’t right at all.

When he turned to watch the police leave, old memory stirred at the sight of the treeline and the fall of the rise where the river emptied into the sea.

Rocks slipping underfoot, he waded around to the other side of the pool and stepped carefully out onto the rock reef in the small waterfall that fed the pool from the main portion of the river.

Imagine the village gone, the road unpaved and smaller- different buildings, stone-

Thick mist in the early, early morning; before the sun appeared to burn the air clear and expose the things that lurked-

-

“Virginia! Virginia!”

The witch pulled her coat a little tighter around herself and watched Arthur Kirkland splash back into the pool near the opposite shore, waving his walking stick.

“What’s my boarder doing in the pool, Ms. Witch?” Mr. Anderson asked.

“V-Virginia said he’d help,” Mrs. Clarke sniffed.

“ _Did_ she now?” Mrs. Anderson wanted to know. “Well I’m sure that’s _quite_ the story.”

Faced with three pairs of questioning eyes, there was little Virginia felt she could do.

“He sees the fairies,” she said by way of answering. “And they listen when he speaks.”

“Virginia!” Arthur said loudly, splashing out of the pool and back onto the bank. “What’s in those woods up there?”


	4. Jeddah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way back in the day when LSunnyC/Sunruner was still writing her story _HetaOni: Recovery_ she dragged everyone else in the little Tumblr circle of people who follow her fics and regularly interact with her on there into the honestly really awful dynamics of China/Romano. I was going to write something historical with China/Romano in it but it didn't quite work out. So have some late Middle Ages/beginning of the Renaissance Hetalia historical fic.

“Lovino I _swear to **God**_ \- I did not _have_ to bring you on this trip, and if you don’t behave you can stay in _Signor_ Hassan’s house the entire time!”

Lovino glared at him and pulled one side of the headscarf his brother had insisted his wear across his face to block some of the glare off the water.

“ _Enough_ with the Lord’s name in vain!”

“I didn’t have to bring _you_ either, Gilbert!” Feliciano snapped at his bodyguard, turning on the one-time Crusader and glaring ferociously at him. “I _could_ have left you in _Jerusalem_ when you made that _scene_ about the women in the market, but _no-_ I cut our stop short so _you_ wouldn’t get stoned to death! If you _don’t_ behave yourself in Jeddah you _will_ wake up one morning in Mecca with _the hangover of your life_ and we will see how you do _then!_ ”

                Gilbert seemed deeply affronted.

                “Is it _my_ fault the g-”

                “ _You stop that sentence **right there** Signor _ or I _will_ push you overboard into the Red Sea and we will _all_ learn how well armor floats!”

                “Please don’t murder my brother, _Signor_ Vargas,” Ludwig murmured, looking up from seat under the onboard canopy, an open account book in hand.

                Feliciano threw up his hands.

                “If he doesn’t offend anyone I won’t _have_ to! I am _trying_ to run a business here!”

                “And it is for that reason,” the man sitting next to Ludwig said. “That I am pretending I didn’t understand a word he just said.”

                Feliciano looked as if he was about to collapse in sheer gratitude with the swiftness he grabbed his trading partner’s arms in thanks.

                “I am so sorry about Gilbert Muhammad, he is an _uncultured boor_ who has no concept of the importance of diplomacy I wish I didn’t have to inflict him upon you.”

                Lovino scoffed at all of them and moved towards the prow of the boat, leaving the other members of his brother’s ‘business expedition’ behind.

                The noon sun was glaring eye-searingly off the deeps and the seaward wind was gritty with dust and sand, but he narrowed his eyes against it all to focus on the ever-approaching city of Jeddah.

                _Ugh, I can smell it from here,_ he thought in disgust, and pulled the side of the headscarf over his face again.

                The port got closer and closer, and-

                “Feliciano!” he called, eyes glued to the ships at anchor. _“Feliciano!”_

                “What, _what?_ ” his brother shouted back, sounding unnecessarily agitated.

                _“Get up here and look at this!”_

                There were monsters docked at Jeddah.

                They were three, four, five times the size of anything Lovino had ever seen, broader and taller than he would have thought possible to float, none of them with less than five masts. The sails were furled, but could easily, or so it seemed to him, hide the largest galley in the Venetian Arsenal when let down.

                “What are _those?_ ”  Feliciano said half to himself, and leaned so far over the prow that Ludwig grabbed the back of his clothes to keep him from tumbling over the railing.

                “Heathen atrocities,” Gilbert muttered.

                “I didn’t know it was physically possible to _build_ something so large,” Ludwig said, shocked.

                Feliciano was practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

                “Look at the breadth on those ships their holds must be _massive_ how much do you think it would take to buy them out Ludwig can we do it do we have enough _do we?_ ”

                “Er-”

                Their accountant looked helplessly at Muhammad.

                “I don’t know,” the Egyptian merchant replied, sounding troubled. “I’ve never seen those ships before.”

                Their vessel had coasted into the vicinity of the harbor, and the shadows of the giant ships had fallen across the deck. The crew was slow in preparing to dock, staring at the unfamiliar sight and wondering, with apprehension, what this could possibly mean.

-

                It took Feliciano all of three minutes once his feet hit the dock to learn where the boats were from.

                _“China!”_   he enthused as Muhammad took them to his house in Jeddah. “Ludwig, we have to sell all our cargo _right now,_ we’re buying whatever they’ve brought, as much of it as we can hold and still float, take out loans if you have to-”

                “As you wish, _Signor_ Vargas,” his accountant replied, mentally calculating volume and expenses and interest. He smiled a little to himself, thinking of the profit margin he could manage.

                “Usury is a _sin,_ ” Gilbert said forebodingly.

                _“Gilbert,”_ his brother scolded. “You _knew_ you were signing onto a merchant expedition when I told you I knew there was a job opening, if you had moral issues then _you_ _shouldn’t have taken it._ ”

                Lovino was about to make a biting comment about Crusaders and plunder and the overall lack of religious integrity involved in the entire business; but the brothers’ argument had devolved into German and he couldn’t follow it any longer.


	5. Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my _Bad Decisions_ series then the names in this setting are going to look _really_ familiar. Back when I'd first started thinking about Honalee, I thought maybe what I'd do was this story: some Nations and their humans end up in Honalee through mysterious means and then have to figure out how to get home and why they ended up there and explain to the humans what they'd been hiding from them.
> 
> This didn't go very far because then I decided Honalee fixed a bunch of things in _Bad Decisions_ that were, at the time, going to turn into plot holes if I tried to use them as-is. So I got to recycle and expand upon the idea of Honalee, just like I got to recycle and expand on the idea of the Pict and Nations/human governments interactions from _Sututz'i Abechiho_ , for the series. And it turned out pretty well.

The plain was gray, the sky dull and overcast. The sole feature were two freestanding gates, decorative rather than utilitarian, framing a view of yet more gray. The nearer was of a faded, dirty yellow-white-brown-gray that gave the impression of having an unpleasant biological texture; the further the familiar polished dirty white of well-cared for ivory.

By rights, the plain should be empty.

“How-” Ukraine started to ask, and stopped as the air swallowed her voice, the sound too flat and short.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hungary said with a large helping of disgust. “We have to figure out how to get _back,_ first.”

“Where are we?” one of the humans asked hesitantly; and the Nations froze. This wasn’t really something you were supposed to _explain._ There shouldn’t have been a need.

“Think of it as a continuum,” England began.

“A circle, an ouroboros- one of those snakes eating their tails,” Veneziano answered, thumbs and fingers arched together in demonstration.

“Everything kind of branches-” Denmark tried.

“If you take the universe as currently observed as at once a very good metaphor and horribly oversimplified-” China told them slowly.

“And also completely wrong,” India added.

“How it all works isn’t the _point_ ,” Israel snapped.

“There are many ways to describe the universe,” Iran said soothingly, trying keep everyone calm. “But, ultimately, none of them can actually explain it.”

“So, where are we?” a different human asked again, after a short pause.

A lot of people looked at Finland, who just sighed.

“Where religion is,” he said after a moment. “That’s the best way to describe it. Most of the places, some of the people. You-”

He gestured to the unfortunate group of secretaries and personal assistants with a sweep of his hand.

“-shouldn’t _be_ here.”

A woman put her hands on her hips and looked around.

“Not seeing any religion,” she declared.

“Well, tough,” Prussia told her. “It’s there. We just don’t know which _part_ yet. Whose is this?”

“Definitely not mine,” the Vatican murmured, and most of the rest of the Nations disavowed familiarity on his heels.

“C’mon,” Prussia wheedled. “I _know_ some of you have unspeakably boring afterlives and hidden worlds and stuff. Finland, you’re _sure_ this isn’t yours?”

“Too dry,” he said.

 _“Afterlives!”_ one of the humans managed.

Romano had walked up to the nearer gate and scratched at it with his fingernail while his colleagues assured their various staff members that _no,_ they weren’t dead, probably, somebody was just messing with them all by dumping them here.

He picked white flakes out from under his nail and called: “These are mine!”

“The hell are we then?” Hungary yelled.

“No damn idea!” he yelled back, and the group started to migrate towards him.

“If these are yours, how come you have no idea where we are?” Denmark demanded.

“The Gates of Horn and Ivory,” Romano said, pointing at each in turn. “But this damn well isn’t the Elysian Fields. We’re on the wrong side of Hades.”

“I thought Hades was Greek,” his secretary said.

“Do you _see_ Greece here, Michele? I didn’t fucking think so. That makes this _mine._ ”

The secretary rolled his eyes.

“Fine, boss.”

“Be nice to our office people, Lovino,” Veneziano whispered, catching his brother’s sleeve before he could retort.

“I don’t suppose you could point me towards the Silent Hills from here,” England said.

“Well, The Ocean is that way,” Veneziano told him, pointing to the horizon at a spot immediately left of the Gate of Horn. “So Morningtown is waaaay over-”

He pointed in exactly the opposite direction.

“-there somewhere.”

“You’re really going to go through the Hills?” France asked.

England snorted.

“If I were _Wales,_ I would. Queen Nicnevin likes _him,_ not me. But if I know where Morningtown is I can get to the Hills, and from the Hills I know the way to Avalon.”

“You going with him or me?” Denmark asked France.

“I am sure Avalon is pleasant enough,” France said. “But it is not mine. Let us go find the dwarves, hm?”

Romano waited while everyone gathered their humans and started walking off in clumps to find their own routes home- England to Avalon, Prussia joining France and Denmark for the moment until he dropped off at Viņsaule, Finland and Hungary and Ukraine banding together for the journey to the opposite side of the dwarves’ mountains than England. India and China deliberated for a moment before putting the Gates to their backs; while Israel decided her best bet was to stick with Iran, who started off for The Ocean to follow up the coast to Ereshkigal’s City.

“You’re not going with them?” Romano asked Veneziano, jerking his head in the direction of Iran and Israel.

“Mm, I might,” he said. “Hades is more yours than mine. I can swim home and end up in the Lagoon, I just can’t take anyone with me.”

Romano pushed him in the direction of The Ocean.

“It’s bad enough I have _these_ three to take with me,” he said, gesturing at Michele and the two interns they’d been assigned, Viola and Roberta. “But I’m stuck with Cristino and _his_ secretary too. I don’t need you around as well!”

Veneziano beamed at them and started running for the coast.

“See you in Rome!” he called.

The Vatican’s secretary looked at his Nation, expression slightly pained.

“We’re really doing this?”

“Christianity has a history of appropriating aspects of Greek and Roman mythology, Renato,” the Vatican told him. “This should be adequate.”

“But we’re all Catholic,” Viola pressed.

The Vatican pushed her gently in the direction of the Gate of Ivory.

“And the promises God has made are real for those who follow His guidance,” he told her. “But I have searched this place before and have yet to find any indication of Heaven or Hell or even Purgatory in this place; and certainly we would not be able to return home from those places if we _did_ find them. You are all Italian, so we will follow our cultural history and influences and go through Hades.”

“I don’t think I like this,” Roberta said as they followed Romano through the Gate. They emerged onto a rocky riverbed, water running shallowly over their shoes. There was a strip of river where the bottom was visible laid out in front of them; to either side, the water ran much deeper suddenly.

“Which river is this?” Michele asked.

“Lethe,” Romano told him. “Don’t get any in your mouth.”

They forded the river carefully, Roberta taking off her shoes to stay balanced. They emerged on the far bank dry.

“This is… very nice,” Renato said doubtfully, looking around at the meadows and spread out trees. The breeze blew cool from downstream, ruffling the wild grass and flowers, but everything stayed pleasantly warm.

“Elysian Fields,” the Vatican told him. “That’s rather the point.”

“There’s no one here,” Viola said.

“Yeah, well, we’re not dead and we’re coming at it the wrong way,” Romano replied. “Cristino, help me find the stupid path.”


	6. "Nyotalia Fic"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This never got a proper title because for all I wrote a lot of words for it the plot didn't really progress. I didn't have anywhere to go with it. The prompt that started it was originally from the LiveJournal Anon Meme- either Germany or Italy gets switched with their Nyotalia counterpart and somehow this leads to them resolving their emotional relationship, with a bonus option of it helping them do it in _both_ universes.
> 
> I don't much like Nyotalia and I don't like the characterizations of anybody that I've seen, and I think the idea of a world where the Nations have swapped 'female' for 'male' and vice versa is usually seriously underdeveloped. So I tried to make some for this fic, the most important one being that since the majority of Nations are now female, historical cultural norms meant that they were never sent to fight in war, so even the _male_ Nations didn't fight.
> 
> Ludwig, veteran of both World Wars, dropped into this setting means a lot of shock on both sides, and if the fic had progressed any further that would have been the focus of the story, rather than the pairings.

The meeting was going decently well, all things considered.

True, Romano was attempting to kick Spain to death under the table; and England had shown up drunk; and Norway was mysteriously working on something that was of great fascination to Denmark and –thank you God, because this kept Russia calm even though it _was_ strange- Belarus; and Hungary was managing to be sufficiently distracting enough to both Austria and Japan (for entirely different reasons) that their entire part of the table for quite a few seats down in each direction that no one over there was paying attention at _all_ -

-but the very fact that Germany had managed to get this far into the presentation without something blowing up, shattering, or shorting out with at least _some_ of the room still paying attention meant that it was at least _minimally_ productive, and productivity was good.

Productivity was _impressive,_ actually. After all, they’d just finished lunch.

He concluded the section of the presentation he was on and looked out over the room briefly, waiting for people to either notice the pause and attempt to pour inane comments into it or finish making their notes.

Veneziano, predictably, exploited the opportunity to slip out of his seat next to his brother and dash across the room to hug him.

Ludwig sighed and patted him on the back awkwardly.

“You can’t survive ten minutes without touching me, can you?” he muttered.

Feliciano smiled up at him.

“Of course I can! I do it when I’m in Rome and you’re in Berlin but when we’re in the same room like this it’s really really hard, you know? You’re right _there_ and I want to hug you and kiss you and hold your hand and snuggle-”

“All right, all right,” he mumbled. He was blushing in front of everyone. At a meeting. With Feliciano in his arms. _Again._ “But can’t you control yourself a _little_ more?”

“But you love me and I love you and no one is looking at us Ludwig, they’re all distracted by Erzsébet, so stop looking like that; you know you like it.”

Germany cleared his throat unnecessarily. It was so -distracting? embarrassing? touching?- that the other man knew him so well.

 _Fortunate,_ he finally decided as Feliciano reached up to kiss him. _Extremely fortunate._

They’d never have gotten here otherwise and-

“ _That’s_ what that does, _Norge_? Then it’s time to get ourselves a less-boring meeting!”

-he was yanked backwards, rocking the chair that had somehow gotten there and this was all _wrong,_ the angle he hit the seat at wasn’t right for being pulled down and back-

-

                Reinhilde Beilschmidt did _not_ know what was happening. She had been seated-

-very demurely, very properly, just like _Schwester_ always said she should-

-in her chair at the meeting, listening attentively to Chantal speaking-

_Proper respectable ladies are good listeners!_

-and very definitely not looking at Tiz- _Veneziana,_ thinking about how nice she looked in a pantsuit, with her hair cropped in a messy, artful tumble and not the long braids and shoulderless dresses she’d had back in the Eighties or the deep blue skirted uniform of the Forties, not that she hadn’t looked absolutely _stunning_ in those too and she _was not having these **thoughts-**_

_Proper respectable ladies have pure hearts and minds._

And now she was kissing! A man! Unsupervised!

She was kissing a man she didn’t know and her _Schwester_ wasn’t there to tell her not to!

This was not _right!_

And the man pulled away and he had the same eyes as Tiz- _Veneziana_ did, they were wide and bright and sparkling honey-brown-

 _“_ DIO MIO _LUDWIG YOU TURNED INTO A LADY!_ Should I call you Luise now?”

So Reinhilde did the only thing she could and _shrieked_ and cowered under the table.

-

                Ludwig stared across the long table at the woman with the long, slightly blonde hair and glasses, who had a polar bear resting it’s head on the table next to her.

                She stared right back.

                He looked to his left, at the woman with messy brown hair and soft blue-green eyes. There was a nice, fluffy white cat curled up in her lap.

                She looked back.

                He looked to his right, at a woman with startlingly-familiar dark red eyes and ash-white hair that fell down past her waist over the stark black, extremely conservative skirt suit.

                She gripped the silver cross dangling from her neck and glared at him, enraged.

                Ludwig closed his eyes and sighed.

                “Well, does anyone have an explanation for what just happened?”

-

                “Nononononononono, Ludwig, it’s okay!” the strange man cried in distress. “You don’t have to hide, you’re a very pretty lady and you have very nice breasts-”

                _Father in Heaven, please protect me in Your Divine Power from perverted men who kiss total strangers and make comments on their parts-_

                “-unless you’re hiding from France-”

                Why would she hide from Fanchette? Fanchette was very nearly her best friend.

                “-which makes sense, I guess, but you could probably still deck him if he groped you, you’re still very tall and strong! And if you can’t I’ll protect you!”

                “Aoughooow _Norge_! Let go of me! C’mon, you troll, put me down! OhGod _Norge_ ; make your monster let go of me!”

                There were _monsters_ out there!

                “What’s this about Germany turning into a woman?”

                “Roderich it’s _terrible_ except it really isn’t but it is I was kissing him and then suddenly he’s a beautiful lady and that’s why it’s not _that_ terrible but then he shrieked and hid under the table and that’s why it _is!_ ”

                Since when was she a man? She was _lady;_ a proper young _lady;_ her _Schwester_ made _sure_ of that-

                “Dude, Ludwig’s a _girl?_ I gotta see this!”

                The table overhead groaned alarmingly and sudden Reinhilde was face-to-upside-down-face with a man whose glasses were in danger of completely falling off.

                “Yo, Lud- _woah,_ this is really crazy! Italy’s right though, you _are_ pretty hot like thi-”

                Reinhilde shrieked again-

                _-and from men who make inappropriate comments in general-_

_“Stay away from me!”_

                -and kicked him square in the face.

-

                “What did you do to my little sister?” the woman in black demanded immediately. “What sort of fiendish, psychopathic tortures are you inflicting on my innocent little sister?”

                “Excuse me?” Ludwig asked, nonplussed. “You have a sister?”

                _“What did you do to my_ Deutschlandchen _?”_

                It took a moment for him to register the German.

                _‘Little Germany’?_

                _“Prussia?”_ he asked, slightly incredulously and incredibly confused- but it all made a sort of sense. The eyes were the same color, the skin, the hair-

                “And who else would I be?” the woman demanded. “Now- _where is my sister,_ you fiendish man?”

                “I don’t know, but I would assume that she is back where I came from-”

                “Then bring her back!” Prussia screamed, and started clawing at his eyes. “Bring Reinhilde back this instant-!”

                Germany leaned back to avoid the sharp nails currently hunting for his face and grabbed the woman’s hands, pushing her back down into her seat.

                “Stop that,” he ordered. “I haven’t hurt your sister and I _highly_ doubt that she’s in any sort of trouble; and if she is I’m sure it’s nothing that she can’t handle herself.”

                “You don’t know my _Schatzi_!” Prussia spat, thrashing in an attempt to break his hold. “She is innocent in the ways of the world and unpolluted by the sins of the Earth-”

“How can she be _Deutschland_ and be _innocent?_ ” Ludwig snapped.

Prussia’s glare got even more intense and her nostrils flared.

“Unhand me, you oaf!”

“ _Nein_.”

The German seemed to startle her for a moment –she stopped thrashing- and Ludwig took the opportunity to continue uninterrupted and applied a bit more force on Prussia to keep her still.

 _“I have not touched your sister,”_ he said forcefully. “I don’t know how I got here, and I don’t know how to get back, and I don’t know how to get your sister back either. Everyone I know who would have any idea how to do that is back where I came from, so the best chance either of us have is for them to figure something out, all right? Now, I am not letting you go until you promise to _behave._ ”

The room was oddly quiet- Ludwig only noticed because at that moment, someone cackled gleefully.

“See, Deitlinde? I _told_ you someday you’d find a man who’d make you his bitch!”

Prussia –Dietlinde- screeched in rage.

Germany whipped his head around.

 _“Who said that?”_ he roared, voice falling back into field-commander mode by default.

Most of the room jumped or flinched –more than he was used to- and a man with long brown hair tied loosely into a low ponytail did his best to recover the look of shocked fear he’d been wearing a moment before.

“Me,” he said, putting on his best smirk.

Ludwig glared at him.

“Apologize to Prussia. _Immediately._ ”

The man smirked a bit more and stretched, languishing back in his seat- hands behind his head and feet on the table. Ludwig was immediately reminded of his brother, but with a worse ego and even worse manners.

“Awww, he’s already claimed you, Deitlinde. And you barely even put up a fight.”

 _“Burn in Hell, Hungary!”_ she screamed, and tried to push Ludwig off again.

Germany frowned at the man.

 _That_ was Hungary? But _she_ was- and Prussia, his _brother,_ was-

At least things were possibly falling into some sort of sensible order now.

He placed Prussia’s hands back on the arms of her chair, and stood. Hungary got up and stuck his hands in his pockets when Ludwig was halfway there, still with that smirk on his face.

Ludwig stopped less than a step in front of the strangely-familiar man and crossed his arms.

 _“Apologize,”_ he repeated.

Hungary shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Your master’s trying to dredge up some respectability for you, but that’s not going to work, is it Dietlinde, because you and I both know what a little stuck-up slut you ar-”

And Hungary never got finish his sentence because Ludwig grabbed him yanked his arm back and up behind him and bent him double over the table, slamming his cheek into the wood; trapping his other arm under his body with the weight of his forearm on the exposed side of Hungary’s face and keeping him pinned, nearly motionless, under his superior weight.

“ _Apologize_ to my sister!”

And it _felt right,_ saying that; despite the fact that he’d barely met Deitlinde and most of their time together had so far consisted of physical conflict- she was _Prussia,_ she had a little sister she called _Deutschland_ , whom she cared passionately about-

“Like _hell_ that little dogmatic slut’s your sister!” Hungary snarled, and tried thrashing around to get Ludwig off him. Ludwig leaned harder on him, only barely ashamed of the short spike of satisfaction as the man’s head impacted the table again with sharp _thunk_ sound. “ _Germany’s-_ ”

_“I am Germany!”_

-

Reinhilde clutched at the cross her sister had given her decades ago as the man on the table fell off and hit the floor with a painful-sounding _thud_ , clutching his face.

“Ludwig, man, that was seriously _not cool,_ ” he complained.

A man with familiar bangs and glasses crouched down on the floor next to him.

“Let me see your nose,” he commanded, and pulled the man’s hands away.

“Oooooow- I think it’s broken!”

“It _is_ broken; America.”

_America? B-But Elfrieda-_

The man with Veneziana’s eyes –and face, and hair, she noticed now- dropped to the floor and scrambled towards her.

“Germany! That was mean!” he pouted. “America was really rude but you’re even more beautiful than Venice right now and you should let people see you!”

 _“S-Stay away from me!”_ Reinhilde half-shrieked, clutching herself tighter and pushing herself further back under the table as the man advanced.

His eyes went wide and teary.

“But Ludwig-”

“S-Stop _calling_ me that!” she begged, starting to feel tears forming her own eyes. Who were all these people and where was she and why hadn’t Prussia _saved_ her yet-

“I don’t- I-I’m not who you think I am!”

The man gasped and covered his mouth, a terrible pain welling up in his eyes behind the tears.

“Y-You don’t remember me,” he whispered.

“T-There’s nothing _to_ remember!” Reinhilde told him, starting to tremble a little. She was stuck here, wasn’t she; she was stuck here surrounded by strangers who all thought she was someone else and they’d lock her up if she kept saying she wasn’t this _‘Ludwig’_ -

_Please, Holy Father, let me return home to see my sister; deliver me from this madness-_

_“You forgot me!”_ the man shrieked, his voice nearly matching the tone and timbre of hers earlier, and it plus the overflowing tears and the pure helplessness in his voice startled and scared her so much that she scrambled backwards to _get away_ from it, and her back hit someone’s legs and then there was a _hand_ on her-

 She was going to scream again, in terror and panic and because she had no other option, but suddenly the hand and the legs were gone and the chair was clattering against the floor somewhere nearby and she was falling backwards onto the floor and someone was helping her to her feet.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” the voice that was attached to the helping hands said, and Reinhilde looked up through her watery vision and there were those familiar, comforting dark red eyes and that ash-white hair-

 _“Prussia!”_ she sobbed and clung to the man. It _had_ to be Prussia, it _must_ be Prussia, never mind that this _clearly_ wasn’t her dear big sister, they _felt_ the same and _Prussia was **saving** her-_

Prussia put an arm around her waist and another around her back, bending it so that he could stroke her hair comfortingly.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Reinhilde buried her face in his chest and inhaled deeply.

_“Ich bin Deutschland.”_

-

There was slow, appreciative applause from the other side of the table.

“Well, it’s about _time_ we had a _real_ man around here,” a woman said, her brown hair set in a bun by a bejeweled clip. Her suit was a very serviceable blue with gold details, a white dress shirt peeking out.

There were a few grumbles of protest, but she shushed them with a wave of her hand, and for the first time Ludwig realized just how _few_ men were seated at the table. It was very strange.

And there was another woman with short, messy brown hair who was _quite_ clearly ogling him.

Germany absolutely _refused_ to blush at this, but at least little red must crept onto his cheeks somewhere, because she winked at him.

_She has Feliciano’s eyes-_

He resolutely stopped himself there and turned his full attention back to Hungary.

_“Well?”_

The man was breathing heavily, partially from exertion but mostly, Ludwig could tell, from frustration and humiliation.

 _“Fine,”_ he snarled. “Prussia isn’t like that.”

Ludwig scowled at him, fully aware of the ambiguous nature of Hungary’s ‘apology’.

Hungary glared back as best he could.

“I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get from you,” he growled, and shoved Hungary back into his seat.

Prussia was sitting up very straight, very stiffly in her seat when Germany took the chair he’d suddenly found himself in a few minutes previously. Her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line and her hands were neatly folded in her lap- Ludwig knew a look of damaged pride when he saw one. It wasn’t like he’d really expected a _‘thank you’_ , anyway.  He wouldn’t have gotten one from Gilbert, either.

“So you’re Germany then?” the woman with the polar bear asked.

“Yes.”

“As in: the Federal Republic of Germany.”

“Yes.”

She tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear and seemed to think about that for a moment.

“But I know the Federal Republic of Germany,” she said. “And you’re not her.”

“I know Canada,” Ludwig responded, taking an informed guess. “And you’re not him.”

They sat there appraising each other for a few moments. Germany got the feeling that this Canada filled his role at world meetings, except that people actually paid attention to her.

They paid _attention._ At a _world meeting._ To _Canada._

Yes, this was definitely not his world.

“Chantal Williams,” Canada said, adjusting her glasses.

“Ludwig Beilschmidt.”

-

Reinhilde was still far from processing what had happened to her, but none of that mattered quite so much now because _Prussia was here._

He was holding her and rubbing her back in slow, comforting circles and she was finally calming down a bit-

She dared to peek at the others, feeling more secure now.

America had stuffed some tissues up his nose but seemed to be doing okay. The man who’d looked at him had sat back down in what was presumably his seat, next to a woman with long brown hair that had a flower stuck in it.

A man with crazy blonde hair was hanging suspended in the air, struggling at something invisible as a serious-looking, expressionless man with neat ice-white hair watched impassively.

Reinhilde shivered slightly and buried her face against Prussia again.

_Stave off the dark powers with Your Holy Light-_

 “Is anyone going to bloody well _explain?_ ” someone demanded. She would have said it was Ainsley, but England didn’t swear like that.

“Denmark set off a spell I was working on.”

The voice was so toneless that it could only be the expressionless man. That meant Denmark was the one in the air.

 _Martha’s hair didn’t change at_ all.

“And what the bloody hell was this spell supposed to do?”

“It was supposed to open a portal to another world, but I hadn’t finished it yet when the Dane decided to be his usual idiotic self.”

“Dude, wormholes!” America exclaimed happily, voice sounding completely off because of the tissues stuffed up his nose.

“So Ludwig is in this other world, Norway?”

That voice was so familiar…

“Maybe. He could have gotten stuck somewhere.”

There was a strangled sob.

“But, given that we have this fine lady with us now, it would make sense that Ludwig has reached this other world?”

“I suppose so.”

Reinhilde was tempted to look again and find out who had that polite, clipped voice. She was sure she knew it, but-

“So, it makes sense to assume that this fine lady is now standing for Germany in this world; and that Ludwig is currently representing her Germany?”

There was no verbal response, so she could only assume that the man had shrugged or something of the like.

Prussia, however, had something to say.

“Shit, how am I going to explain this to the Chancellor?” he muttered.

Reinhilde nearly gasped. Prussia had sworn! Not creatively insulted; just simply sworn! Cursed! Used bad language!

“Germany?” the polite voice asked.

Reinhilde turned her head to look. That hair, those eyes-

“Yun?” she asked quietly.

The person –she supposed it had to be a ‘he’, that would fit the pattern she was picking up on- smiled slightly at her and bowed.

“Kiku, Germany.”

She nodded a little to herself. Well, that wouldn’t be hard to remember.

“Reinhilde,” she said. “I- I’m Reinhilde.”

Kiku’s smile was a bit wider this time.

“It is good to meet you, Reinhilde.”

“I’m glad to meet you too, Y- Kiku.”

He was calming. China was always calming.

“Gilbert, I believe –and I mean no disrespect to you, Reinhilde- that perhaps it would be a good idea to retire? She appears to be in great distress.”

Prussia looked down at her.

“What do you say, Hilde? You want to head out to Berlin?”

Reinhilde could not honestly think of a time when she’d heard a better suggestion.

-

Ludwig wasn’t quite sure what the status of the meeting had been before he arrived –though everything had seemed quite surprisingly (happily) calm- but it had stuttered to a halt, everyone seemingly unsure what to do about this new, _male_ Germany.

To be fair, _he_ wasn’t sure what to make of all these female Nations. It just wasn’t something he had experience with. Would they all be like (his) Hungary?

He really hoped they weren’t like Hungary.

And it would be ridiculous if they were, these were entirely different people from the friends (and family) he’d lived with and fought with and fought against his entire life.

It was unsettling. Who was he supposed to talk to? Who could he ask for advice? Who would accept orders, who would fight him just for the sake of conflict, who could be convinced by a well-thought out argument?

Who were the enemies of this Germany he’d replaced?

Who were her _friends?_

Without the distraction of other Nations listening and arguing and paying attention to him, it was all starting to sink in.

He didn’t know where he was, or if he’d ever get home. He might never see Gilbert again, or Feliciano-

-and that _hurt._

And Prussia was giving him a look that clearly stated _‘you are not sharing my house’_ , so where was he supposed to _live?_

How was he going to get food, and more clothes, and toiletries- did they use Euros here? Were they the _same_ Euros?

Was he going to have to get a job? He couldn’t imagine going up to his Chancellor and explaining how and why (even though he was _completely_ lost on those points) a Nation who had left Berlin _female_ had returned _male._

_Was his Chancellor even the same **person?**_

Well, of _course_ they weren’t, they hadn’t lived in the same universe he had, but did they share a gender, at least? A surname?

Ludwig was so preoccupied attempting to sort out the logistics of this situation that he completely failed to notice the woman who’d come up to him. That was quite a feat, considering how tall she was.

“Excuse me, Germany?”

He jumped a little and turned in his seat to look up at her.

Her hair was gray and long, fluffy bangs cut at her eyebrows. Her eyes were purple and had the _kindest_ smile on her face- 

“…Russia?” he asked hesitantly. With her looks it was hard to imagine her being anyone else, but-

“You’re good at this, aren’t you Germany?”

Well then. _Well._

“I’m Ivanka,” she said, offering her hand. “But you can call me Ivka. Everyone else does.”

Ludwig took it and shook, carefully examining Russia’s face for any trace of what he was used to seeing.

Nothing. Just… the happy smile; a real _joy_ at meeting someone new, making them feel welcome-

It was like looking at Feliciano.

But it was _Russia._

“Ludwig,” he said, because some things just called for courtesy.

“You look like you’re in a bit of trouble, Ludwig; and I know Prussia- do you need a place to stay?”

“Ah-”

Had Russia _really_ just offered to put him up? This was _insane,_ he and Russia had never really gotten along; not during the treaty during World War Two and _definitely_ not after he’d broken the treaty and _absolutely_ not after he’d taken Gilbert; and even though their governments were on good terms these days Ludwig and Ivan still had too much history to ignore-

But this wasn’t Ivan. This was _Ivanka_ \- Ivka.

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

And had he really just _agreed_ to stay in Russia’s house?

-

Reinhilde clutched the bags she’d been given nervously as she exited the car. Prussia had pulled into the garage and was busy unlocking the door to the main house, the house where the Federal Republic of Germany lived-

-but it wasn’t _her_ house.

The door opened and she followed closely on Prussia’s heels, looking wide-eyed around at the kitchen they’d entered.

It was… plain. Utilitarian. She would have almost said ‘stark’, but someone had painted the backsplash a nice, deep forest green with gold trimming to go with the dark wood cabinets, and the walls were a calming cream color; the window trimmings were the same shade of green and were mounted with brass to match the fixtures and hinges and handles; the countertops were a smooth, natural stone that matched the walls almost exactly-

-it was kitchen that was made to strictly be a _kitchen;_ but clearly whoever used this frequently saw no need for that to mean that it couldn’t also be a perfect example of interior decorating.

It made her want to know what the other rooms looked like, if they were all like this, so neat and clean and showroom-worthy, and who had put all the time and effort into designing it and making it _look_ right-

There was thunderous barking, and she assaulted on all sides by fur-covered maniacs.

Reinhilde shrieked yet again, and the barking only got louder and louder and was that one _growling_ at her-

“ _Nein_! _Schlecht_! _Freund_!” Prussia snapped, pushing one dog away with his foot and hauling the other two away by their collars. (No! Bad! Friend!)

The dogs quieted a bit, but refused to back off, still fixated on her.

“Hilde, hold your hand out,” he told her. “They just smell you and Ludwig’s bag and it’s confusing them.”

Reinhilde timidly held out her hand. It shook a little. Dogs were- Dogs were new for her; Deitlinde had never permitted any animal other than her own constantly-caged songbird in the house and none of her friends had dogs-

“ _Freund,_ Berlitz,” Prussia said firmly, and let go of the German Shepherd. It took a few steps toward her and stretched its neck out, sniffing her hand tentatively.

Nothing else happened.

“ _Freund,_ Blackie,” Prussia said, a little quieter this time, and let go of the other dog, a fluffy grey monstrosity. (Eurasier)

It followed Berlitz’s lead, as seemingly confused as the other dog had been.

“ _Freund,_ Aster,” Prussia called to other dog, mostly black but with some camel spots, and then Reinhilde was surrounded by dogs again and she wasn’t sure that she really liked it all- but it was okay because Prussia was right there in case anything went wrong. (Hovawort)

“It’ll take them a little while to get used to you,” he said, and swatted at the dogs. “Go on, shoo. C’mon, Hilde, I’ll show you around.”

She was led through the kitchen and into the dining room, that had same color scheme as the kitchen; and then into the living room with the big stone fireplace with the carved wooden mantle where the forest green was met with bits of black and dark red; shown the downstairs study-library where everything was black and gold and red leather; and up the stairs to the master bedroom where the forest green made a reappearance and the second bedroom where Prussian blue replaced it and the upstairs study that matched the downstairs and the more private upstairs library where all the colors came together and then finally to a guest bedroom.

It all left Reinhilde with a newfound appreciation for interior designers. The one constant through the whole house was the cream-colored walls, but even after that there were only a few main colors and it was _beautiful;_ she wasn’t like the Germany that lived here at _all,_ she wasn’t artistic in the _least-_

“We’ve got a couple other guest rooms but they’re small and haven’t been opened up in a while,” Prussia said. “And don’t go in the basement; the only part that’s actually safe to walk through is the dog’s area and they won’t like you down there.”

He waved at the room.

“There’s sheets in the drawers and the bathroom’s through that door. You can open the window and air out the room if you’d like. Just set up where-”

He stopped.

“Wait, shit, you don’t have anything, do you? Clothes and stuff.”

Reinhilde tried to get over Prussia swearing –again- and shook her head.

Prussia sighed.

“Okay, yeah- give me the bag, I’ll put it in Ludwig’s room and then I’ll call some people and see what I can come up with for you, okay? I’ll get you some old clothes so you can change out of that suit thing you’re wearing- they’ll be kind of big but you and him are about the same height.”

-

Ludwig felt like he needed a minute to deal with his situation. Maybe a few hours.

He was currently on a private plane, to _Moscow,_ with Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus.

A small, confined space, in the air, with Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus.

But no one was crying.

No one was screaming.

No one was getting threatened.

Nothing had broken.

Ivanka was sitting comfortably next to Belarus, her scarf unwound and simply hanging from around her neck. Belarus- Yuri, Ivka had said his name was- had not once produced a knife, or tried to touch his sister, or even suggest anything even remotely resembling personal togetherness.

He hadn’t spoken a word. He just looked bored.

Ukraine – _‘Vsevolod, call him Vsevya!’_ \- was lounging over an entire row of seats, feet up, reading from a book and occasionally stopping to talk to his sister about something in Russian.

Germany felt a bit like he was intruding on the comfortable, calm atmosphere –it was intensified by not knowing the language- and looked back out the window.

The seat next to him shifted and he looked back over.

Ivka had come and sat down next to him. She was still smiling, _really_ smiling, she never seemed to stop- and it was surprisingly comforting. His heart was starting to ache for sparkling brown eyes and a warm smiling face.

“You’ve been watching us,” she remarked, and didn’t seem angry at all, or upset, or creeped out. She just said it like she was a little concerned, and hoped that everything was all right.

“I’m… adjusting,” Ludwig said.

“Oh?” Ivka asked, tilting her head a little.

“This isn’t my world. I’m not used to it yet. This- This never would have happened there.”

“This?”

“Going to Moscow, with you, in a plane, with your siblings, without any violence, to spend time at your house for something that’s not business. By now, you and I would have had five serious arguments complete with possible threats of military, economic, and bodily harm, Belarus would have been threatening me with a knife, you would be hiding from her in the pilot’s cabin, and Ukraine would have broken down crying in the bathroom.”

Ivka’s eyes widened.

“I can’t- I can’t imagine that ever happening,” she said quietly. “We- We’re all so close…”

“I think you’re still close, where I’m from, but that doesn’t stop that sort of scenario from being the default state of your existences. The only reason I believe this is because I’m watching it happen.”

Russia bit the inside of her bottom lip and looked down at the floor.

“…Ivka?”

“What sort of a world must you come from?” she asked quietly.

Ludwig sighed.

“Honestly, I think it’s much like this one right now. We Nations just… have a lot more personal problems.”

Ivka’s smile was smaller and little wavery, but it was still a real smile. She reached over and squeezed his hand briefly.

It felt a little strange.

“Belarus is a ‘she’?”

“That seems to be the major departure point between our worlds,” Ludwig told her. “Here, you’re- Ivanka Braginski?”

“Ivanka Braginskaya.”

“But I know you as Ivan Braginski. Ukraine is Yekateryna Braginskaya, and Belarus is Natalia Arlovskaya. I am Ludwig Beilschmidt, and here I’m-”

“Reinhilde Beilschmidt,” Ivka said. “So our genders are just… flipped?”

“It would appear so.”

“You must have a lot of men in your world.”

“I do.”

“Is that nice?”

Germany thought about it for a while.

“I suppose so. Those are the people I’ve known all my life; and I never thought it would or could be different.”

Ivka’s smile got bigger.

“Well, you have a chance to see now. I hope you enjoy it.”

-

                Reinhilde looked doubtfully at herself in the mirror.

                She’d changed out of her business suit- plain, perfectly serviceable, up to her sister’s standards- of a matching knee-length skirt and jacket, and now…

                Now she was wearing _pants,_ for what must have been the first time in her life.

                She knew it was permissible for women to wear pants now, she didn’t _have_ to wear skirts all the time, but-

                Prussia bought all their clothes. And Prussia bought knee-length skirts, and dresses, and long-sleeved shirts and jackets, because that was what proper respectable ladies _wore._

                Proper respectable ladies did _not_ wear worn men’s sweatpants. They did _not_ wear old t-shirts that were much too big around the shoulders and left their bra straps showing and, with collars made for a chest so wide that they showed quite a lot of cleavage.

                She looked like _Elfrieda;_ and God only knew what sort of morals were broken hourly in America.

                That’s what Prussia always told her, anyway.

It would be shameful, _utterly_ shameful to venture out of the room in this. But she didn’t want to wear her business suit and possibly get it ruined or at least covered in dog slobber and hair-

Reinhilde was a proper respectable lady just like her big sister and could not soil her clothes in such a way.

She pulled one side of the collar up to cover her bra strap, only for the other side to fall completely off her shoulder.

Yes, she looked like Elfrieda. Deitlinde would be horrified.

And anyway, she _liked_ skirts.

“Hilde!” Prussia called from downstairs. “There’s people for you; they brought clothes!”

_Thank you, Holy Father-_

Oh, no. She was going to have to leave the room like this.

“J-Just a minute, Prussia!”

She didn’t want to leave him waiting but she couldn’t, she just _couldn’t_ go outside like this-

And there were footsteps on the stairs, lots, and her door was opened without anyone even knocking.

Reinhilde gasped and flushed- Prussia was the first one through the door, her front with the _completely_ improper (sinful) amount of cleavage and the completely bare shoulder and-

Did he like what he saw?

 _Oh no oh no oh no oh no I am_ not _thinking that! I am_ not _having these thoughts! I am a_ lady _and ladies do_ not _think like that and that’s_ Prussia _-_

She quickly pulled the collar of the shirt so it rested against the back of her neck and clenched the front shut with both hands before turning around.

There were three other women in the room now, one in the sort of dress Deitlinde would approve of and the other two in pants and shirts that she most definitely would _not-_

“This is Liechtenstein-”

In the dress.

“-and Belgium-”

With the short hair, women were supposed to grow their hair long and then put it up if they were married or loose if they were virgins and that had always confused her about Tiz- _Veneziana,_ because she had worn her hair long but in braids and that was like putting it up, so was she a virgin or not (Deitlinde said ‘no’, but you couldn’t judge someone by their siblings, just because Romana-) and then she’d cut it and it was short and messy and so, _so_ beautiful and _she_ wanted to look that good one day-

“-and Hungary.”

Reinhilde froze.

“H-Hungary?” she stuttered.

“Yeah,” Prussia said, looking slightly confused. “Erzsébet.”

“Y-You and her…”

“Oh God, please don’t say we’re married where you’re from,” Hungary complained, and pulled a face.

“Hey!” Prussia exclaimed. “Don’t be like that! You’d be _lucky_ if I ever decided to bestow my awesomeness on you forever like that-”

“Shut up, Gilbert,” she said, but it barely had any sting, and smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

Gilbert rubbed the spot and complained, but everyone could tell he was overdramatizing it and-

 _-oh Heavenly Father this is_ not _normal, what sort of a world am I_ in _-_

“Just dump the sissy piano man, Lisa, the only thing his ass is good for is sitting on a bench all day! I’m surprised you don’t have to fuck him on it!”

“Just leave Austria alone, Gilbert.”

 _Th-Th-Th-_ What? _Hungary and, and_ Austria? _They-_

“C’mon, you know I’m right.”

“Gilbert, you haven’t been right about anything in _years._ ”

“Lies, woman; who was the only one who guessed right about whether or not Poland was really gay?”

_Wait wait wait wait wait-_

“That doesn’t _count,_ Prussia, you belonged to him once-”

“How the fuck does that ‘not count’, _Lithuania_ even guessed wrong and he was _married_ to the guy-”

“Erzsébet, Gilbert, perhaps you could continue somewhere else? You are distressing Reinhilde.”

Reinhilde’s head whipped around to stare at China.

How had she not noticed him before, he had a sewing basket placed on the floor and had taken out scissors and needles and spools and spools of thread and a few seam rippers and a measuring tape-

 _Please, no, I don’t want a_ man _doing this to me-_

“Pff, fine, I’ll go,” Prussia said.

No no no no no don’t _go;_ Prussia _couldn’t_ leave her alone-

But proper respectable ladies did _not_ complain or beg (unless absolutely necessary and then only in a flattering way) or cause trouble, so she stayed silent as Prussia issued final orders to “Make her look awesome!” and left the room completely, shutting the door behind him.

Liechtenstein busied herself laying out the mass of clothes they’d brought with them on the bed.

 _Those sleeves are much too short that top will be much to tight those are_ pants _so many pants and those skirts are short too short too short what are people going to think when I walk by them_

“So, Reinhilde,” Hungary said. “We brought over some of our spares and asked around for other people’s old things but none of us are quite your size, so we’re going to have a fitting party.”

Oh no.

“So, get out of that shirt and those pants and let’s see where we need to start.”

She was going to have to strip.

She knew none of these people.

There was a _man_ in the room.

_Proper respectable ladies do not complain. Proper respectable ladies do not cause trouble. Proper respectable ladies do not complain. Proper respectable ladies do not cause trouble. Proper respectable ladies-_

Reinhilde tried very hard not to imagine her sister’s face and slowly unclenched her hands from the collar of too-large shirt and pulled it off-

 _They can see my bra they can see my cleavage my_ breasts

-and undid the drawstrings on the pants-

 _my underwear my thighs my_ bottom

-and stepped out of them.

She stood there trying not to flush with guilty shame and twined her hands together in front of her.

“Letje, what do you think of those shirts?” Hungary asked.

Belgium was looking over some of the tops they’d found and examining them dubiously.

“I don’t her chest’s going to fit, Lisa. She’s got a big rack.”

 _Again,_ again _with my breasts- they’re just too big, it’s not proper at_ all _it makes people stare_

“Yeah, it’s like looking at Ukraine!”

“If she cut her hair shorter she’d look like Ukraine,” Liechtenstein commented. “This is a nice blue-”

“Hey,” Hungary said, eyes gleaming. “If Germany could make someone with a chest like _that,_ what do you think Ludwig’s junk is like?”

Reinhilde did _not_ want to hear this. They were joking and playing along and it was friendly, all friendly, she could tell by the tone but there were tears stinging the back of her eyes and they were talking about her and her parts and this was _humiliating-_

Belgium snorted, sounding amused, or something close to it.

“Ask Feli,” she answered, and snorted again. “Hey, Kiku, get her chest measurements, will you?”

And now a man was going to put his _hands-_ one of them had already _done_ that today, under the table, and-

Kiku appeared before her and he looked up at her and his smile was small and so knowing and

 _Proper respectable ladies are calm and collected Germany that’s_ not _how you do it Refinement my dear is utterly dependent on self-control_

apologetic and _sorry_ and he wasn’t supposed to _know_ he wasn’t supposed to be able to _tell_ that shame was eating her up inside

“Belgium, I have a few ideas for outfits that I would like to try; may I trade places with you so that I may look at the clothes?”

“‘Course, give me the measuring tape-”

And Reinhilde closed her eyes as Belgium wrapped the tape along the bottom of her bra and then over her breasts and the movement of the cloth chafed and it _wasn’t supposed to feel that **good**_ she was just being measured and it was a _woman-_

-and Belgium whistled in appreciation when she finished her measurements and announced the result to the others, but to Reinhilde it sounded like a catcall and felt like the world was seeing something private.

-

Ludwig looked at the room Ivka had told him he could take and simply _could not believe it._

It was _huge_ \- wood-paneled walls and a high ceiling and hardwood floors covered with deep plush rugs; the furniture stuffed thickly and upholstered in the same bright, rich reds and golds and oranges and whites and blues; the all the wood oiled and all the brasswork polished until it shone in the light from the central ceiling fixtures and little sconces on the walls and probably, at night, by the table lamps and in the winter by the fire from the small hearth set into the wall that bordered the attached bathroom; the bed four-posted and canopied and set up with the softest mattress he’d ever felt and _silk_ sheets and thick quilts.

This was too fancy, too ornate; it was _indulgent_ and luxurious- and _the whole house was like this._

_How in hell did this survive the Communists?_

Maybe there hadn’t been, weren’t, and never would be Communists in this world.

He should check.

“You _really_ didn’t have to go through all this trouble to set this up for me,” he finally managed to say.

“Oh, no, Ludwig, it’s not like that,” Ivka told him. “Most of it was set up already, I just had to make the bed! I get a lot of visitors so all the guest rooms are pretty much pre-prepared just in case someone drops by for a surprise visit for a few days.”

And Ludwig could see that- Ivka was kind and generous and joyful and there was absolutely no reason why people _shouldn’t_ want to be around her-

-but still. _Russia._  

“I host a lot of parties too; usually the biggest ones are Christmas and Easter, but I have a rotating schedule of which independence and founding days to do, too.”

“You don’t celebrate Christmas in America?”

Ivka looked puzzled by this.

“Well, no one would want to. _Elfrieda_ would be hosting.”

“So you… like having a lot of guests?” he asked, still trying to feel even slightly like he belonged in this room.

“Oh, yes!” she said brightly- her smile matched. “I love having friends and making people happy!”

Well, that at least matched up with _some_ of what Ludwig had heard about his Russia. That was a little better, and now that he was taking a closer look at the décor he noticed a distinct sunburst pattern- a sunflower?

Point two in favor of similarities. Hopefully the plumbing worked; but if Ivka had people over so much he doubted that she was tearing it apart for fun, like Ivan did.

“Oh, Ludwig-”

He turned to look at his hostess.

“I hope you don’t mind but I had Vsevya look through his clothes and find some things for you. He’s only a little taller than you but your shoulders are wider so I think they should fit okay. There’s not too much of it, though, Vsevya’s thrifty that way; but we can go shopping for more things later-”

“That’s- Thank you, Ivka.”

“You’re welcome! Get settled in, I’m going to start dinner!”

-

Reinhilde huddled under the blankets of her borrowed bed and tried burying her face in the pillow.

The others had left, taking with them the clothes that simply couldn’t be altered to fit her and leaving the ones that were too tight too short _not hers_ on the bed, and Reinhilde had folded them all up carefully because they had spent so much time on these gifts-

_Proper respectable ladies show the proper amount of thanks and respect to and for gifts._

-and had put them away, carefully sorted, into the dresser drawers and hung up in the closet to wear tomorrow ( _notthinkingaboutthat_ ) and then she’d shut the drawers and the doors as tightly as she could and changed into the one respectable nightshirt she currently had and _huddled._

The door opened and a few moments later Prussia lifted the blankets away from her face.

“You not hungry or something, Hilde? I made dinner.”

She just shook her head mutely.

“Nerves, huh?” he asked sympathetically.

She nodded because it was easier than talking and saying things she wasn’t supposed to.

“Give it a couple days and you’ll settle in just fine, okay.”

He reached down and ruffled her hair.

“Hey, you look good like this, kid.”

She’d agreed to let them cut it it was short like Veneziana’s but she’d never _ever_ look like that as good as her and Deitlinde was going to be _so_ furious with her if she ever went home

“I guess you’re going to bed now, huh? I’m not disturbing your peace or something right, ‘cause you’re not really talking.”

Reinhilde wet her lips. It had been too long since she’d had something to eat or drink but she didn’t want to get up-

“Do you have a Bible?” she asked, voice quieter than usual.

“Huh? Yeah,” Prussia looked… astonished. Stunned. Absolutely dumbstruck. “Yeah, we’ve got a bunch, me’n Feli are the only ones who read them, though, Ludwig isn’t into that sort of thing. You want one?”

Reinhilde nodded and Prussia left for a few moments and came back with a black leather Bible and handed it to her and gave her a kiss goodnight and turned the light off and closed the door as he left and she turned the bedside lamp on and gathered the blankets around her shoulders and opened the Good Book to the first page and she was going to read the entire Pentateuch tonight, Genesis and Exodus and Leviticus and Numbers and Deuteronomy. 

-

Ludwig lay in the too-big, too-fancy bed in Russia’s house and thought about dinner.

It was… nice.

There were some quintessentially Russian things, that was to be expected and he had thought that would be the whole meal- but then Ivka had pulled out the bratwurst and the trout in the butter-and-parsley sauce and the asparagus, even though it wasn’t in season-

-they’d even had proper quark cheesecake for dessert; and before he’d gone upstairs he’d smelled rye-wheat bread baking in preparation for tomorrow morning.

That was nice; it was so hard to find proper bread outside Germany-

And he and Ivka had talked, about anything that came to mind, and it had to be the longest conversation with a woman he’d had in months. He’d told her a bit about his politics and the people he knew and she’d told him a bit about hers and described the Christmas parties she threw and Ludwig _almost_ wished he could stay long enough to see one, it sounded much better than America’s blow-outs; and then they’d talked about gardening and Ludwig had been forced to admit that his knowledge extended exclusively to industrialized farming and hedge-trimming, and Ivka laughed a little, and then spent the rest of dinner talking about her hothouses in the back of the property where she grew her vegetables and her fruits, and kept a few things like orchids and fish pond stocked with koi from China and Japan and a whole huge tub of sunflowers.

It was domestic, and it was happy, and it was peaceful.

And it was something Ludwig wanted in his own home, with Gilbert and Feliciano-

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the evening as Feliciano’s cooking, Feliciano’s conversations- his smile, his laugh, his eyes-

He needed to go home. This was nice, and he could deal with it for a little while, but it wasn’t _his._

Germany wasn’t even in his own country.

It was little too much to take in at once, a little too much to deal with- wake up in the morning, go over the presentation one more time, go to the meeting, get kissed, end up in a different world, manhandle a version of one of your friends and go to sleep in the house of a version of one your enemies-

So Ludwig rolled over, pulled one of the other pillows on the overstocked bed to his chest, and pretended it was a warm body hugging him back.

-

Lovino watched his brother make another nervous circuit of the first floor of their house in Rome and decided that _enough was fucking enough_ already.

“Feliciano, _stop_ with the damn pacing!”

“But what am I supposed to _do?_ ” his brother wailed, spinning around and holding his hands out imploringly after running them through his hair. “Ludwig’s _gone_ and I don’t know where he _went_ and he could be _hurt_ or _sad_ and I don’t know about it and I’m not there to help him and-”

“There’s nothing you can do about it so just leave it.”

_“But what if he’s stuck there forever! What if I never see him again?”_

 Lovino sighed and put his book down.

“Then you’ll just have to fucking deal.”

Then suddenly was yanked forward and his brother’s face was centimeters away from his own.

“I can’t just _‘fucking deal’_!” he screamed. “ _I need him,_ Lovino!”

He shook his brother a little.

“ _I **need** him!_ I need him and I love him and I _can’t_ lose him, Lovino, _I can’t-_ ”

Feliciano burst into tears.

Lovino scowled like he was annoyed but pulled his brother down onto the chair with him.

“I can’t lose Ludwig,” Feliciano mumbled against his brother’s shirt. “I love him I can’t deal with that again.”

“You’re going to have to live with the fact that you damn well might.”

“You wouldn’t be this calm if it was _Spain!_ ” Feliciano accused, and thumped him on the chest.

“If it _was_ Spain you wouldn’t be this hysterical,” Lovino shot back, and threw an arm around him.

They snuggled closer together.

“…and what if the whole place is different like that Germany is different?” Feliciano continued.

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Because then he’s surrounded by beautiful women all the time and won’t want to come back!” he burst out.

“If he’s that fucking _easy_ you shouldn’t even be _dating_ him, Feliciano!” Lovino exclaimed angrily, shoving his shoulder.

“He’s _not,_ Lovino!” Feliciano protested. “He’s nice and kind and sweet and wonderful and he _loves_ me-”

“Then why the fuck are you even worrying about this!”

“B-but he’s really awkward about it _all the time_ and I don’t think he’s comfortable with himself and _what if he’d feel better about being with me if I was a woman?!_ ”

“Feliciano,” Lovino said tersely.

“Hm?”

“Are you trying to fucking _tell_ me that you’re dating a guy who hasn’t fucking _come to terms_ with the fact that he’s damn well _gay?_ ”

“I don’t _know_ if he has or not but sometimes it kind of seems like it maybe but he’s also just really awkward _all the time_ and it’s cute but I think _maybe_ he might be _more_ awkward with me-”

Lovino dropped his face into his hand.

“You are an _idiot,_ Feliciano. A fucking _insecure_ idiot.”

“So are you.”

“Shut up!”

A bit more silence.

“…can I sleep with you tonight?”

“Yeah.”

-

“What do you think he likes? Skirts, pants, dressy or casual-”

Caesarina Vargas finished taking her hair down for the night and looked over at the other bed in the room, currently occupied by sister, who was hugging her pillow like it was the best thing in the world.

“Did you _see_ how he just grabbed Hungary and forced him down against the table like that? So _strong_ and _powerful_ …”

She hugged the pillow tighter and shivered all over in evident pleasure.

“Those _eyes_ and that _hair_ and his _muscles; mio Dio_ that _build_ … so tall and serious…”

Caesarina smirked as she thought about this man named Ludwig.

“Of course I did. He’s hard to miss. Now lend me that brainpower of yours- what would a man like that like in a woman?”

Tiziana rolled over so she was on top of the pillow.

“You know I’m not the person to ask about that, Sister.”

Caesarina snorted and flopped down onto the bed.

“You seemed to like him well _enough._ ”

Tiziana flung one of their many throw pillows at her.

“I can like how he looks and _not_ want him to pin me down and ravish me. Go ask one of _your_ friends.”

“Oh, _please,_ ” Caesarina said, tossing the pillow back at her sister. “He’s new, _hot_ meat. Half the _world’s_ going to be all over him by the day after tomorrow.”

“So tag team or something!”

“That’s for _later_. Really, Tiziana, you have to take these things at least a _little_ slowly. You don’t want to scare people off before you’ve even gotten to know them.”

She groped around on her nightstand and came up with her copy of _Orlando Furioso_.

“Why was I even asking advice from you in the first place, Ms. I-Can’t-Get-Into-Reinhilde’s-Skirt?”

Tiziana bolted upright and glared at her sister.

_“She’s mine!”_

Her sister snorted.

“I’ve even had _Belarus._ _France._ There is _no_ _one,_ man, woman, or otherwise, that can resist _me._ You just be grateful that I decided there is _no one,_ not even an innocent little virgin with such eyes and lips and hips and thighs and _even_ that chest; that is worth dealing with Deitlinde.”

“Deitlinde would never want you _anyway,_ ” Tiziana muttered. “ _Or_ Reinhilde.”

“Oh _please._ I could have Deitlinde any time I wanted _if I cared to;_ and I’m just leaving Reinhilde for you because her sister’s such a bitch and _you_ need the practice.”

“Hey, I _don’t_ need _practice!_ ” Tiziana snapped. “I like other things in life more than running around chasing skirts and pants and- I just- _I’m_ going to be the first one to make Reinhilde melt and beg for more.”

“And you’ve never had _America,_ ” she added as an afterthought.

 “Like _anyone_ would want Elfreida.”

They lay around in silence for a little bit while Tiziana fumed and Caesarina read more of _Orlando Furioso_.

“She _will_ be mine,” Tiziana said suddenly.

“Have fun with that, Sister,” Caesarina told her absently.

Tiziana grumbled something unintelligible and turned out the lights on her.

“Good _night,_ little Veneziana,” the other woman called.

“Night to you too, Romana,” Tiziana muttered into her pillow.

-

Reinhilde stared at the dresser across the room from her bed, not wanting to change out of her nightgown, which was currently the only semi-decent thing she owned.

But she couldn’t go downstairs in her nightgown, either, because that _definitely_ wouldn’t be decent, it was thin and hung a little low on her chest and you could see _things_ through it-

Eventually she compromised and wrapped one of the blankets around herself and shuffled downstairs to the dining room.

Prussia looked like he was just finishing breakfast, and nearly choked on his drink when he noticed the time.

 _“Eight-fifteen?”_ he managed to say hoarsely.

“Did I get up too late?” Reinhilde asked, feeling a little frantic. She was messing up a routine! That was impolite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Prussia assured her. “It’s just- Lutz would’ve screamed at me by now for letting him sleep in so late.”

Eight-fifteen in the morning was late?

“He thinks the world starts working at five-thirty, year round. He’s kinda weird like that.”

He gestured at the table.

“Anyway, there’s still some stuff left I haven’t touched yet. Get yourself something and sit down.”

Reinhilde inched over towards the stove, which had a pan filled with disgusting-looking greasy things on it- some sort of sausage.

There was bread on the counter that looked mostly edible, though, so she reached for that instead.

She was very carefully buttering a slice of it when the doorbell rang.

“I got it,” Prussia said, and finished his coffee in one last swing that let a bit of the dregs dribble onto the table.

Reinhilde was still frozen by the counter, unable to reconcile her automatic reaction to clean up the mess with her need for the decency provided by the blanket she was clutching, when Kiku walked in, a bundle in his arms.

“Good morning, Reinhilde,” he said politely, and bowed.

She attempted an awkward curtsey with the blanket in return and Prussia returned and dumped his dishes in the sink.

“I noticed yesterday during our fittings that you appeared less than satisfied with my colleagues’ clothing selections.”

Oh no no no no he wasn’t supposed to have noticed that she was supposed to _hide_ that-

“So I have brought some things that I hope you will enjoy in a greater degree to apologize for yesterday.”

Prussia, currently rearranging a briefcase, froze; then dropped the folders he was holding.

 _“What happened yesterday?”_ he demanded.

Kiku stood silently and inclined his head fractionally towards Reinhilde.


	7. "Harry Potter Crossover"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just one of those things where there's a popular fandom and then just about everybody tries a crossover of it with their main/favorite/other fandom at some point. 
> 
> This one's kind of funny because I had the idea of European Wizards being really really big on the family feuds and this carries over to murder mystery at Hogwarts with Hetalia characters; and then what does somebody I know do? Start writing a massive 'murder mystery at Hogwarts with Hetalia characters' fic a couple weeks later. It's _Snakeskins_ by LSunnyC/Sunruner, and you should definitely read it.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy was- well, everyone knew what it was. The pride of the British magical community. The birthplace and training ground of magics and practitioners both good and evil. A school; and a perpetual battleground.

                Invitations went out in the July either immediately following or preceding budding witches and wizard’s eleventh birthdays in Ireland, Scotland, England, and Wales. Oh, of course, every year a few invitations went out to students in other parts of the Commonwealth and former Empire- Australia, New Zealand, India, Hong Kong, Canada- and the children of British ex-pats; but through and through Hogwarts was a British institution, founded by Brits and built by Brits and populated by Brits and taught by Brits.

                Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Höchhildricshaven, Venefica Schola Hesperiae, Óss, Burvība Skola, CsodaszarvasbikaTanítás a Táltosok- and all the other schools of Continental Europe, who fought relentlessly over the young witches and wizards of those scant families who had relinquished the old traditions and family rites of home-based education and later apprenticeship under the pressures of modern wizardry and the inescapable encroaching press of Muggle life.

                How those schools dreamt and plotted of getting the Great Families of Europe- Héderváry, Beilschmidt, Galante, Vargas, Väinämöinen, Dalca- the closest to Wizarding royalty the Continent would ever have. Monied, legacied, storied; rich with talent and vassals and _pride._

                The Great Families would never stoop so low as to attend a Continental school, not when there were family secrets and family rites and family gifts to pass on and develop and refine for the next generation and all those following.

                So, when The Union of Magical Societies of Continental Europe unanimously ruled that, to prevent further rivalry, sabotage, assassination, and general bloodshed amongst the Great Families, the latest generation of heirs, sworn companions, foster children, and protégés be educated outside the traditional ways, well-

                They went to Hogwarts.

-

                The animosity over this ran deep.

                On the Continent, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the Great Families raged and threatened and fumed for _months_ until prevailed upon by sons and daughters and sisters and brothers, cousins and distaff branches; and slowly, slowly messengers came and went between the Holds as representatives negotiated which children would go, who would send whom in exchange for this name on the final list, who could be bribed or cajoled into releasing a foster child- _hostage,_ the word was understood but never said- from the Hold for the purposes of foreign schooling.

                Across the Channel, the remains of the Pureblood families of Britain scoffed in public- quietly, mind you, ever so quietly it wouldn’t do to be noticed, _Heavens_ no, not after all that _business_ with that evil man- at the quality of the bloodlines and coveted in private the connections and power they and their children could gain from these potential school days associations. In the Ministry, parties and factions railed against _‘the intrusions of foreign wizardry and politics’_ and sang the praises of _‘this great leap forward for the stability of all European wizardry’_.

                Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry stayed quiet, and in the summer weeks after the end of term, Headmaster Flitwick discreetly gathered the Heads of Houses and his most trusted staff- veterans, all, of Dumbledore’s Army, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Battle of Hogwarts- for a days-long meeting. New wards were set, the general staff was briefed, a few precautions were put in place; and in July all the invitations went out as scheduled.

                Fifteen were sent to the Continent, and all fifteen were answered at the beginning of term with students.

-

                There were four separate betting pools going based around the Continental students by the time the train arrived at Hogsmeade station.

                One was the staff pool, the wagers a mixture of money and practical items, magical and not. It had, in detail, each student and where everyone thought they would place. There were a few about who would try to arrange the betting on the first duels, as well, wisely kept secret from those who might object.

                The three others were all student-based. One was for the Slytherin sixth and seventh years, one for the seventh years of other houses, and the last for the fifth and sixth years of other houses. None of those held up well under the Sorting Hat’s decisions, based as they were on total speculation.

                Though, to be fair, the staff pool didn’t hold up well either.

                The final results were a mixed bag- five to Ravenclaw, four to Gryffindor, and three each to Hufflepuff and Slytherin. No one house was overly represented in one of the Great Families.

                A few angry communications with the Great Families later to emphasize that _yes,_ the Sorting Hat’s decisions were _final,_ everything flowed smoothly. There was the general hustle and bustle of the first week or so as the students got used to going to their classes. Some of the Continental students were set remedial coursework or assigned to classes with students lower than their year so they could catch up; a few jumped a year or two or three to be with those older than them to keep up their skills.

                Otherwise, everything was quiet. A few check-ins with the Heads of Houses about how they were settling in received good answers- some complaints about British English words they hadn’t heard before, a few mentions of vague hostility from other students but nothing beyond stand-offishness. No reason to worry.

                And so everything progressed smoothly, until midway through November, when in the early morning hours first-year Hufflepuff Ludwig Beilschmidt ran screaming from the dormitory, his foster-mate third-year Feliciano Vargas hot on his heels and seventh-year Yekateryna of the Galante Family leading the stream of concerned British Hufflepuffs up the stairs past the kitchen to the Entrance Hall; where they found Feliciano holding desperately onto the still-screaming Ludwig, staring blankly at the bloody, obliterated remains of seventh-year Ravenclaw Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ludwig’s older half-brother, only foster-family, and sworn vassal. 

-

                The Aurors arrived almost immediately- three Patronus messages within a minute of each other had that effect on people.

                Professor Longbottom met them at the front gates, still in his housecoat and slippers.

                “Morning, Alicia, Lee, Padma.”

                “You’re lucky we were at the office, Neville,” Alicia Spinnet told him. “Had to send an alert spell for Harry.”

                He opened the gates for them, the school wards recognizing for themselves the former students who had fought for it.

                “Is he going to come?”

                “He’s _Head Auror,_ ” Padma Patil said dismissively. “He and Angela are going to be tangled in the politics. _We’re_ here for the groundwork.”

                “It’s messy,” Neville warned them. “He looked… exploded.”

                Lee Jordan pulled a face.

                “I suppose it’s too much to ask for witnesses?”

                “His younger brother was first on the scene. Most of the school is up by now, so you’d better do your questioning quickly, before rumors spread more than they have already.”

                They reached the main doors, which swung reluctantly open.

                _“Oh,”_ Padma said faintly, looking at the carnage.

                The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor saw them come in from his position atop the grand staircase doing crowd control and motioned for them to go into the Great Hall. They edged their way around the bloody mess and through the slightly-opened doors.

                Headmaster Flitwick was perched atop his seat at the front of the room, behind the staff table; the other Heads of Houses already gathered around.

                “The Aurors are here, Headmaster,” Neville called.

                “We’re going to need to speak with all the Continental students,” Alicia told them. “And the students from the House the victim was in, see if they saw-”

                There was a knock on the Hall doors.

                “Uh, Headmaster?” a student called.

                “Kenneth Kirkland,” the Head of Ravenclaw whispered to Padma. “Head Boy of Ravenclaw. The other one is his brother Tristan, Head Boy of Hufflepuff.”

                “Come in, come in!” Flitwick told them, motioning to get out of the doorway.

                The brothers proceeded uncertainly, hesitant around the Aurors.

                “Well, speak up-”

                “Madam Pomfrey sent me,” Tristan said. “Ludwig refuses to leave Feliciano and won’t accept any sort of food or potions to calm him down until Feliciano checks them to make sure they’re not, uh, tampered with. Or poisoned. He keeps unconsciously throwing off little distraction and botherment spells like he’s totally untrained whenever anyone else gets close.”

                “Feliciano?” Alicia asked.

                “He’s, uh, the second son of the Vargas family, ma’am. His older brother is in Slytherin and Feli told me the Vargases and the Beilschmidts have one of the nastier Family vendettas between them, but they grew up together in Hold Héderváry. They got fostered out there because of some treaty that was supposed to keep their families from, um, outright murdering each other so much.”

                “Well _there’s_ a bloody complication,” Lee muttered. 

                “His sister’s missing!” Kenneth blurted.

                “What?” a few people asked.

                “Ludwig has a twin sister, Liesl, she’s in Ravenclaw too. I went to check on her after I s- heard about Gilbert and she’s not in the Tower and nobody saw her leave or get up with everyone else when the commotion started.”

                “Murder-kidnapping, do you think?” Padma asked the other Aurors.

                “She might have just run off,” Alicia said.

                “I can lead a search,” Neville offered. “No one knows Hogwarts better than me.”

                “Would you? Thanks. You-”

                Alicia pointed at Kenneth.

                “-any of the other Continentals in your House?”

                “A couple.”

                “Get them to the Hospital Wing. Other one, do the same for your House and tell the other Head Students.”

-

                There were very few things Lovino Vargas appreciated, and being dragged out of his bed at an ungodly hour of the morning to the Hospital Wing just to see the Beilschmidt welp clinging to the second son of Marcus Vargas and sobbing and _being comforted_ was _not_ one of them.

                Lovino gave his brother a nasty glare, and got one in return. Bad enough there were only two Vargases here- oh no! The _other_ one had to be the little fucking foster-traitor, who cared more for the weakling son of The Germans and the future Matriarch of the Héderváry Family than his _own,_ who had given him such an opportunity.

He didn’t have to live in Hold Vargas, surrounded by family and vassals where anyone could be a potential threat in hiding, in waiting.

 _Feliciano_ was protected by _treaty._ _Feliciano_ could make personal alliances with members of other Families. _Feliciano_ was in the position to make his potential rivals allies, or at least grudging vassals, through personal debt and favors. _Feliciano_ got invaluable insight into how another Family worked.

                And he wasted it all- _all!_ \- on coddling _Ludwig Beilschmidt,_ the sick, tiny little thing that could barely go _two years_ without a life-threatening scare and didn’t have enough magic _or_ talent to fill a shoebox.

                It disgusted him. Feliciano was a _Vargas_ and he could do _fucking better than this._

                The various children and hangers-on of the other Families straggled in, the deep suspicion of the others clear on their faces. They clumped off into their Families, leaving Lovino- _alone, just like always_ \- sitting on a bed.

_‘Hufflepuff loyalty’ **my ass.**_

-

                Feliciano was doing his best to calm Ludwig down, but it really, really wasn’t working. Feliciano didn’t blame him- he wasn’t feeling very calm at the moment either.

                The potions Madame Pomfrey kept bringing out weren’t working either, though they really should have, and Feliciano was having his suspicions why. The problem was getting a word in and having anyone believe him.

                Pretty much everyone from the Families had arrived when Ludwig started screaming again, making everyone jump violently. Feliciano clutched him harder and tried to ask what was wrong, but uncontrolled magic flared up from Ludwig’s body suddenly and hit Feliciano with all the force of a live power line. He seized up all over, and distantly felt his own magic trying to counteract it as he stared up at the ceiling. He tried to move, but nothing was responding.

                He finally manage pushed himself back up slowly after a minute or so, with help from his brother, to find that Ludwig wasn’t near him any longer. Feliciano looked around frantically and spotted him on a bed. Pushing Lovino away, he got to his feet and stumbled towards Ludwig.

                “Madame Pomfrey,” he said hoarsely. “I think I know why things aren’t working very well.”

                “Oh?” she half-snapped, her frustration and worry clear. “Do tell.”

                “It’s- Gilbert,” Feliciano said. “He was Ludwig’s sworn vassal. That’s…”

                He struggled for the words in the unfamiliar language.

                “It… there’s a kind of a ritual, a sort of a spell, that you do. It binds the vassal to the master near the uh… the bit where your magic is, where _you_ are. So the vassal can’t work against you and you can draw on them for, um, magical stamina and stuff. Ludwig said that Gilbert was _‘something special’_ , it’s a Beilschmidt thing so he couldn’t actually _tell_ me, but whatever-it-was it probably made breaking the vassal bond a _bunch_ worse than usual because you’re just supposed to feel that it happened and also Gilbert was Ludwig’s only family he really knew and, and, he died sort of horribly and Ludwig _saw_ and he’s _little_ and sick all the time and-”

                “Gilbert was his _slave?_ ” Madame Pomfrey exclaimed, horrified.

                That got the attention of the rest of the room.

                “ _No,_ he was his _sworn vassal,_ ” Lovino spat. “Of _course_ the little brat had one, he’s too fucking _weak_ to live without-”

                “ _Shut up_ about Ludwig!” Feliciano yelled at him. “He’s going to be _fine!_ ”

                “ _You_ shouldn’t give a _shit_ if he dies!” Lovino yelled back at him. “ _Traditore di sangue-”_

                There was a sharp clap from the doorway that halted all further arguments. The Aurors had arrived just in time to hear the start of the argument.

                “Anyone mind explaining?” Alicia asked, eyeing Lovino warningly.

                The rest of the students scrambled to explain sworn vassalhood, but they kept running over each other sentences and cutting each other off.

                “Stop, _stop!_ ” Lee ordered. _“One. Person.”_

                He never got around to specifying _who_ before the Groundskeeper strode in, towing Cezar Dalca and his fiancée, Natalya, along by their collars behind her.

                “Found these two sneaking around on the fringes of the Forest,” she told the Aurors, shoving her captives at them. “And there’s a dead girl out there, Ravenclaw, first or second year, blonde.”

                The Aurors exchanged looks.

                “Liesl Beilschmidt,” Alicia said. “Damn. Lee-”

                “On it,” he said, leaving to secure the scene. “Madam Groundskeeper, can you show me?”

                They nearly collided with the Gryffindor Head Girl on the way out the door.

                “Sorry, sorry!” she said, herding her charges into the room. “Raivis was hiding in a closet-”

                Someone from one of the other Families snickered. Raivis Galante did his best to look intimidating, but it didn’t work very well.

                Alicia sighed in frustration and looked around the room at the motely assemblage of students.

                “They’ve already been talking with each other,” Padma said to her quietly. “They might have constructed stories, especially if the loyalty of Families is as strong as we’ve heard.”

                “Given what we just heard about this vassal business, I think we’re safe assuming that,” Alicia muttered back. “Watch the girl.”

                She looked at Cezar.

                “You. Come- Madame Pomfrey, I’m commandeering your supply closet for interrogations.”

                “Don’t you touch my supplies, Alicia Spinnet!”

-

                Cezar Dalca sat stiffly in the corner of the supply closet, arms crossed.

                “So,” the Auror asked him. “Why were you in the Forbidden Forest?”

                “The Dalca Family has hunted magical creatures for centuries,” Cezar told her tightly. “I have to practice to keep my skills up, and the Forest is famed for its populations.”

                “You realize its protected land?”

                “Only for the intelligent ones,” he maintained. “We _don’t hunt_ sapients unless they’ve murdered. We’ve been planning this stalking session since we arrived.”

                _“‘We’?”_

                “My fiancée and I.”

                “The girl who was with you.”

                “Natalya. You can talk to Yekateryna, she’s her sister, _she’ll_ say the same thing- Natalya and I are hunters, like all Dalcas. _Not_ murderers.”

                “You’re from the Great Families. Offing each other is the most popular pastime you _have._ ”

                Cezar stayed silent.

                “Your… fiancée. Is she a vassal?”

                Cezar gave her an angry look.

                “Vassalhood is for _subordinates._ She will be my _wife_ \- the wife of the Dalca _Patriarch._ She’s _better_ than that.”

                “We were told Gilbert Beilschmidt was-”

                “A _bastard,_ ” Cezar said dismissively. “A _disgrace;_ didn’t even live in the Beilschmidt’s sphere of influence. Vassal material of the best sort- family enough to do it voluntarily but in a position precarious enough he’d jump at it to give himself some stable ground to stand on.”

-

                Lee Jordan warded the area around Liesl Beilschmidt’s corpse and took a few moments to compose a report message to send back to the office in London.

                “Auror Jordan. Arrived at Hogwarts. Gilbert Beilschmidt dead as previously described. Liesl Beilschmidt dead on edge of Forbidden Forest, apparently cause of death suffocation by crushed chest. No indication of item used. Groundskeeper discovered-”

                He fumbled in his pockets for the pictures he’d grabbed from the files the Aurors had started compiling on the Great Families.

                “-Cezar Dalca and fiancée Natalya in forest around same time. Auror Spinnet conducting interrogations.”

                The ground caught his eye.

                “There appear to be hoofprints of some sort around Liesl Beilschmidt’s body. Not centaur, and the ground is torn up. Hoofprints head from body towards lake,” he continued, following the tracks. “They end on shoreline below water. No further indications are seen.”

                Lee backtracked to Liesl’s corpse and hunted around until he found the tracks leading up to the scene.

                “Hoofprints appear suddenly on main road running from the main doors to the gates. Conjecture: Liesl Beilschmidt was running from thing that made these hoofprints and was subsequently crushed when caught.”

                He ended the spell and sent the report off, then tucked his wand away in the pocket made for it. He shrugged off the bag he’d been carrying around and knelt on the ground off the road so as to not obscure evidence any further. Out came the powder engineered to indicate where a wand had been used- a color card attached to it indicated the correlation between the colors the powder could turn and the properties of the wand used.

                Lee dusted the area of the road lightly with the powder- it stayed uniformly white, except for the patch of color where he had been standing when he’d ended the Patronus spell.

                Confused and concerned- a summoning or transfiguration spell _should_ appear the object summoned just beyond the wand- he set up a physical barrier of wooden stakes and spelled twine to keep people off the dust and prevent it from being interfered with by outside magics.

-

                “When did you first see the body?”

                “We entered the Forest by the Groundskeeper’s Cottage,” Cezar told her. “That’s why she saw us. We didn’t see the corpse until we were dragged out, since it was by the road.”

                Alicia wanted to have an easy answer- she always did, and thankfully most of the cases the Aurors had had in the years since the Second Wizarding War _had_ been simple- but there just didn’t seem to be one in this case.

                “All right,” she said, opening the supply closet door. “Don’t leave the Hospital Wing.”

                Padma sidled over.

                “They’ve been huddled in their little groups the whole time,” she reported. “There’s some sort of split between the Vargas brothers. Won’t speak to each other, just exchange nasty looks.”

                Alicia felt a headache coming on.

                “Okay, thanks. It’s almost time for breakfast- go have a look around the Entrance Hall, send your report off, and arrange for food to be sent up here for all of us. I don’t want these students out and around until we’ve questioned them all and we’re sure whatever happened to the Beilschmidts won’t happen to any of them.”

-

                The carnage hadn’t gotten any better since last time Padma had seen it, which was very unfortunate.

                “Auror Patil. Entrance Hall of Hogwarts. Gilbert Beilschmidt has no appreciable corpse to speak of. Remains are… strewn about staircase and floor and smeared on walls. Assuming he went from the Ravenclaw dormitories towards the front doors, the beginning of contact appears to be at the foot of the stairs. The largest concentration of blood is here.”

                She tracked possible patterns with her eyes.

                “Blood appears tracked from here on, and smeared slightly. Conjecture: Gilbert was attacked from behind, likely fleeing from attacker, possibly with Liesl Beilschmidt. He sustained a mortal injury at the foot of the stairs, where he was subsequently dragged a few feet, still bleeding out, and… violently… dismembered. The… largest pieces appear bludgeoned and… torn off.”

                A momentary break, to swallow the bile.

                “Remaining pieces indicate an outward force from the general location of the corpse. No tracks apparent leading towards or away from the scene. No obvious evidence of any other human presence.”

                She sent the report off just in time for Lee Jordan to re-enter the building.

                He grimaced.

                “Stuck with the analysis?”

                “Yeah. And now I get to arrange _breakfast._ ”

                “Oh _joy,_ ” Lee said, rolling his eyes. “You talked to the ghosts or the pictures yet?”

                “No- _you_ can have them. Get up here so I can start blocking this area off.”

-

                “Please, please, Mistress Auror, Natalya didn’t kill anyone! She’s my sister, she _wouldn’t!_ ”         

                “You’re not here to defend anyone,” Alicia told her sharply. “How did you come to be in the Entrance Hall?”

                Yekateryna sniffed.

                “Ludwig was screaming and woke me up. H-He sounded like he was hurt so I got up and everybody else started waking up too because the boy’s dormitory was making so much noise but I was the first one out after Ludwig and Feliciano, it was _horrible_ but I ran and got Professor Seaton since he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts and it was a _murder_ and he got everyone else up and _Gilbert’s dead-_ ”

                “You knew him?”

                She tried to stop crying so much.

                “F-Feli and Ludwig are the only other ones from the Families in Hufflepuff, so I talk with them sometimes, in German, and they’re both little and kind and sweet and we play games and go for walks and I’m knitting them scarves for Christmas-”

                _“Ms. Galante-”_

“Oh no no no I’m not a Galante! I’m not even a vassal yet!”

                Alicia frowned at her.

                “So then what is your surname?”

                Yekateryna looked down at the floor.

                “I can’t use it,” she said quietly. “The Galantes bought me but I’m not a vassal so I don’t have one.”

                _“Bought you?”_

                “Mm-hm!” Yekateryna said, nodding furiously. “I’m a Metamorphagus, it’s a talent the Galantes like collecting so when they heard I was one they paid my parents for about what it had cost them to raise me so far and a very high apprenticeship bid, that’s how they built their Family with apprentices-”

                “But- you’re _emotionally distraught_ -”

                “What- _oh!_ No, no, that would be _terrible!_ That’s- That’s bad form, bad _discipline,_ if you let yourself change with your emotions! No, I’d get _laughed_ at it if anyone found out!”

                “You-” Alicia spent a moment hauling her thought process back around. “Ok, let’s try this again- Ms. Yekateryna, _did you know Gilbert Beilschmidt?_ ”

                “Just from when I was with Ludwig and Feli and he showed up they are, were, very nice people _Li-Liesl was so young-!_ ”

-

                Lee Jordan had to do a bit of hiking and backtracking around the staircases until he found a ghost.

                “Hey- Hey! Excuse me! Sir Nicholas!”

                “Good day, Sir Auror!” the ghost boomed at him. “How may I assist you this morning!”

                “I need to know if you or any of the other ghosts saw anything related to the deaths-”

                “Oh Gilbert? No, so sad, didn’t see anything, we all stay away from him mostly sorry he’s dead but, well, the Castle will be more comfortable without him around though I do wish it happened some other way-”

                “Uh, Sir Nicholas-” Lee started to say as the ghost started backing up through a wall.

                “No point in asking, my good fellow, no one will have seen anything, not even in the pictures they didn’t care for him much either, good day to you Sir Auror, best of luck in your investigation-”

                Lee Jordan stood alone in the hallway, rather angry.

-

                “Now, Mr. Galante- what’s this about a closet?”

                “Well,” Raivis said nervously, fidgeting. “When I came down and saw the blood and bits all over, I didn’t know who or what had done it and if it was after just _him_ or other people too so I figured the best thing to do would be to hide because there’s no sense in not taking precautions and if I went back to the dormitory they might find me there because it was big news, us coming to Hogwarts, I know it went in the newspapers what House we were on the Continent-”

                “You’re Gryffindor, right?”

                “Yes, ma’am.”

                “So how did you manage to hear the screaming from the _kitchens?_ ”

                “I- I’ve been kind of homesick and I’m not doing very well in my classes so I haven’t been able to sleep. I was up trying to see if sitting by the fire in the quiet by myself would work, because maybe I could read and learn some things and get tired _that_ way, but when Ludwig started screaming you could hear it up the staircases, I think maybe he put some magic behind it accidentally but I don’t really know that much about how sound echoes so…”

                “And then?”

                “I heard him and got kind of really scared and I wasn’t sure what to do so I went and tried to see what he was screaming out, and then I saw and went and hid.”

-

                Ludwig was dozing fitfully on the bed, Feliciano sitting beside him on a chair he’d pulled up, stroking his hair.

 _He’s gotten sick again,_ he thought worriedly to himself. _He’s gone all warm and sweaty and he’s still sparking off and Madame Pomfrey’s spells and potions aren’t working. It can’t be just shock anymore, even if he’s had a lot of it today._

His stomach growled at him.

_Shush you, Ludwig is **sick** and you don’t know how badly yet._

Feliciano sighed and laid his head down on the bed next to his friend.

“F-Feli?”

“I’m right here Ludwig,” he whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere. Sleep; you’re sick.”

“D-”

He had to swallow, throat dry, before continuing.

“Do you know where my medicine is?”

“Med-”

Recollection hit. Gilbert, stopping his little brother in the Entrance Hall as everyone streamed in for breakfast, to give him a little vial of serum.

“Would Gilbert have it?” Feliciano asked, sitting back up.

Ludwig managed a little nod, tears gathering.

“What is this?” Madame Pomfrey demanded, appearing beside them. “He’s awake? Stop _straining_ him, Feliciano-”

“He has medicine he’s supposed to take,” Feliciano interrupted her quickly. “Gilbert gave it to him in the morning before breakfast.”

“Medicine?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “All medicines are supposed to be registered and administered _here._ ”

“Well I don’t know why Gilbert wouldn’t have made sure that was done but _please,_ it might be why he’s so sick.”

Madam Pomfrey harrumphed at him and seemed put-out, but called for one of the staff nurses to have Gilbert’s things brought up immediately so they could have them stored for any family that came to claim them later, and hopefully find whatever Ludwig was supposed to be taking.

-

                “You only woke up _after_ the Head Boy came to get you?” Alicia asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Timo Väinämöinen told her.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt slept on the same tower floor as you.”

“Yes.”

“So you didn’t hear _anything?_ ”

“Yes.”

“Will you _elaborate?_ ”

“Gilbert Beilschmidt or anyone else who came in or out of the Ravenclaw dormitory didn’t make enough noise to wake me up at any point before Kenneth got me out of bed to bring me here.”

“And _that’s_ what you’re sticking with?”

“Yes.”

“You _do_ realize he only slept two beds over from you?”

“Yes.”

-

                Alicia dismissed Timo irritably, her mood only just improved by the appearance of Padma at the head of a house elf delegation bearing breakfast. Padma was carrying a tray herself, with plates and cups and utensils stacked on top.

                “Compliments of the kitchen,” she told Alicia as they headed into the second, smaller portion of the wing. It was closed off by one of Hogwart’s signature heavy wood doors, so they could discuss the case so far without anyone overhearing. “They work like the platters in the Great Hall- which I was informed will _not_ be open today to preserve the integrity of the Entrance Hall.”

                “Great.”

                “They also cancelled classes and are confining the students to their Houses. Neville’s idea. We might get a delegation of upset teachers at some point.”

                _“Amazing.”_

                “And we’ve got a guest,” Padma told her, opening the door to the second section of the wing.

                Lee was already inside, arranging a table and chairs for them with the help of a new man.

                The stranger looked at them.

                “I take it you are Auror Spinnet; the one in charge here?”

                “Yes,” Alicia said, stepping forward warily. “And you?”

                “Herakles Karpouzi,” he said, pulling out a credentials wallet. “The Union of Magical Societies of Continental Europe, Intramagical Community Crimes and Felonies Department, Investigational Division.”

                They shook hands perfunctorily.

                “This is _our_ jurisdiction,” Alicia said.

                “And _our_ citizens,” Herakles pointed out.

                “He brought information for us, Alicia,” Lee said, taking the tray from Padma and setting the table.

                They settled down into breakfast, the food appearing on the plates and the cups filling themselves. Coffee wafted strongly from Herakles’s cup.

                The Aurors swapped pertinent information- the wandless magic, the hoofprints, the apparent murder methods, the questioning results- while the TUMSCE Investigator listened in quietly.

                When they were finished, he pulled a few files out of a briefcase he’d brought along.

                “Cezar Dalca and Natalya of Dalca,” he said, handing the files to Alicia. “And the Beilschmidts.”

                Lee eyed the folders.

                “So little on the Beilschimdts?” he asked unhappily.

                “Just this generation,” Herakles informed him. “They haven’t had much opportunity to wreak havoc and destruction upon the rest of humanity yet.”

                He flipped open Gilbert’s file.

                “Gilbert Beilschmidt, formerly Gilbert Astrauckas. Son of Gintarė Astrauckas of Radviliškis, Lithuania. Born in Malbork, Poland; identified as the bastard son of Theudericks Beilschmidt, Patriarch of the Beilschmidt Family and owner of Hold Beilschmidt near Berlin. Gintarė Astrauckas left Malbork soon after her son’s birth to return to Radviliškis. They lived there until Gilbert was ten; when Theudericks invited Gilbert to be a part of the Budapest Treaty between the Beilschmidt and Vargas families and serve as his half-brother Ludwig’s new companion and protector following the death of his previous one, Roderich Edelstein, aged twenty-four. Gilbert arrived at Hold Héderváry with some magical training evident from both his mother and what was perhaps a natural talent at the traditional Beilschmidt arts.”

                “Traditional arts?” Padma asked.

                “Each of the Great Families has a specialty or two- some of its training, some of its genetics by now. The Beilschmidt Family crafts magical items- wands, clocks, amulets-”

                Herakles gestured at the cups and plates.

                “-tableware, prisons, cameras- if it involves putting magic into something or making magic a part of it while it’s being made, they do it.”

                “So Gilbert was… tinkering around with cameras?” Alicia hazarded.

                “…That’s a _‘There’s something I didn’t mention’_ look,” Lee said after a moment, looking sharply at Herakles.

                “There are… long-term, mostly-unsubstantiated rumors that the Beilschmidt Family have a natural aptitude and inclination towards… necromancy.”

_“Necromancy?”_

                “Exorcising, raising, and the forced creation of ghosts,” Herakles said, starting a list on his fingers. “Binding souls, not just magic, to objects. It’s said the Beilschmidts were the inventors of the sworn vassal ritual and the first to use a phylactery-”

                “The first to use a _what?_ ” Lee asked.

                “It’s…” the TUMSCE Investigator searched for words. “You take a bit of yourself, and separate it, to put it in something else-”

                _“Horcruxes?”_

“Perhaps? The Beilschmidts are rumored to do those, in addition to… darker magics.”

                “Darker than _Horcruxes._ ”

                “Much.”

                “This family is sodding _insane,_ ” Lee muttered into his hands.

                Herakles returned to the file.

                “Gilbert swore vassalhood to Ludwig at some point soon after arriving at Hold Héderváry and was permitted the surname of his father. Minor altercations between Gilbert and Erzsébet Héderváry are recorded, but nothing else of note.”

                “Do you have hers?” Padma asked, and Herakles pulled it out and handed it over.

                She skimmed through it as Lee read down Liesl and Ludwig’s files.

                “Their mother’s dead?” he asked.

                “Giving birth. Apparently, Ludwig has been a complication since the day he was born.”

                “Elaborate?” Alicia asked.

                “Premature birth. Weak, sick, doesn’t take well to potions or healing spells. Very, very late bloomer- I wouldn’t even call what happened _‘blooming’_. I noticed when I came in that he’s been throwing off raw magic in little spurts. That’s typical of him. No control, no direction, no power behind it. Practically a… Squib?”

                “Yeah, a Squib,” Lee said. “He’ll probably get better though, especially with a family like _this_ \- remember when Neville was next to useless?”

                “Of course I do,” Alicia said. “ _Everyone_ does.”

                They read in silence for a while, with no further questions, until Padma closed Erzsébet’s file.

                “War magics?”

                “Dueling. Destruction and murder. Messy, brutal, and done that way to make a statement. The Héderváry specialty.”

                “Well, I know who _I’m_ talking to next,” Alicia muttered, thinking of the gore strewn around the Entrance Hall.

                “I have… two more of interest,” Herakles said, reaching back into his briefcase. Out came two thicker files.

                “Lovnio and Feliciano Vargas,” he told them, sliding the folders across the table towards Alicia. “Family specialties are wandless, nonverbal magic and potions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big twist to this plot was that Ludwig _was_ born a squib, but the Beilschmidt's dark magic specialties could tie other people's magic to him if they died. So Roderich and some other people, I forget who I'd decided they'd be, were killed so the family heir wouldn't be a squib. They find this out because Gilbert's magic and Liesl's magic has backlashed into Ludwig through the vassal bond and being his twin; and the story ends up with Ludwig swearing vassalhood to Feliciano, and he, Feli, and Yekateryna are the only ones who stay at Hogwarts, eventually dropping out the Wizarding world and going to live as muggles in America.
> 
> (Also Raivis was the one who killed Gilbert and Liesl, because of political reasons I've misplaced the notes about. It had something to do with Natalya and Cezar's marriage.)


	8. "Sky High Crossover"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Hetalia Club, this was a LiveJournal Anon Meme crossover prompt I picked up. I some ideas about it that I thought were really interesting, and I might use them in something original someday, but maybe not. We'll see.

Once, there were the Heroes, and the ‘Hero Support’- the Sidekicks. The ones without powers ‘good enough’ to be ‘ _real_ heroes’.

One day, Will Stronghold changed that.

Now, there are the Heroes, and the ‘Hero Potentials’- the Rehabs. The ones with ‘bad blood’ who will never be ‘ _true_ heroes’.

Someday, Arthur Kirkland may change that.

-

He was a conundrum, and he knew it.

Two parents, both superpowered. Standard metahuman material; _destined_ for Sky High.

But it was the first of September, and he was boarding the bus. He ignored the whispers, and the looks, and scrunched down in one of the back seats against the window. He let the side of his head rest against the cool glass and watched the scenery roll by.

His wasn’t the last stop, so he had to sit through a few screechy halts as other people got on the bus. At what _was_ the last stop, they took on only one student, a tall boy with a spring in his step and bright eyes.

The new boy made a beeline for the empty seat beside him.

“Yo, I’m Al!” he said enthusiastically. “Superstrength. You?”

“Arthur.”

“Dude, like _King_ Arthur? Cool! Do you have a magic sword?”

Arthur removed his head from the window as the bus took off.

“No, git.”

“I’m _Al,_ Arthur; not Git. What’s that short for, _Gertrude?_ I’m not a _girl._ ”

Arthur rolled his eyes and looked down at the city, far below and falling away.

“C’mon, Arthur, what’s your power?”

“They’re not sure,” he muttered.

“You a late bloomer too?” Al asked, sympathetically. “Harsh, dude. I know. Just got my strength over the summer- it’s gonna _suck_ being two years behind everyone else.”

“I’m not a late bloomer!” Arthur snapped. “The school board just can’t decide what I do!”

“If you show me I’ll give you _my_ opinion.”

“No one asked you and didn’t you read the bloody sign?”

“Woah, _bloody_ sign?” Al exclaimed, leaning out of the seat and whipping his head every which way. “Dude, I didn’t know there’d been a _fight!_ ”

“No, you idiot, the sign up front,” Arthur said, pointing towards the area over the windshield. It said, in big red letters:

_NO POWERS ON THE BUS_

“ _That_ sign?” Al asked, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “Really big, ain’t it?”

Now that his arm was raised, Arthur could see a word on the other boy’s arm. A tattoo?

“Hey, what are you staring at?” Al wanted to know, and glanced down at his forearm.

 ** _MATTHEW_** was written on the skin, in thick black letters.

“Who’s Matthew?”

“Dude, _no_ clue,” Al answered, unzipping the top of his bag and pulling out a plastic container of wet wipes. He pulled one out and scrubbed away at the ink marring his arm. It made an unappealing grayish splotch across his slightly-tanned skin. “Happens a lot, though. I’ll just be staring into space, and then I look down and suddenly it’s there. Don’t ever remember writing it- shows up overnight sometimes, too. My parents think maybe I’m _possessed_ or something.”

Arthur crammed himself further against the window and hoped desperately that the bus would land soon.

-

The front lobby of Sky High, more like a great, vaulted hall, was crammed full of students on this first day of school. Alfred stuck close to Arthur the entire time, and they reached the table marked _‘Schedules H-K’_ together.

“Name,” the student sitting behind the table said, clearly tired of the monotony.

“Jones!” Alfred announced.

“Kirkland,” Arthur muttered.

The student looked sharply at him as she riffled through the papers on file. She handed a blue sheet to Alfred, and a red sheet to Arthur.

“Blue schedules go to Room 7,” she told them. “Red schedules to Room 66. Maps are on the back.”

Arthur and Alfred fought their way out of the press around the tables and towards the hallway doors.

“Aww, we’re nowhere near each other!” Al said, looking at the map. “Look, you’re all the way over there!”

Arthur turned his own schedule over and examined it. The lobby-hall was clearly marked, as was Room 7- the auditorium. Room 66 was at the end of the east wing, in a group of classrooms clustered away from the rest of the school.

This did not bode well.

“Hey, I’ll see you for lunch!” Al said, and rushed off towards the auditorium doors, conveniently located right in the lobby.

Arthur set off from Room 66, unpleasantly suspicious of what he’d find there.

-

The first thought he had when he pushed open the door to Room 66 was that it was not very big.

A woman, Middle Eastern or North African by the look of her, was seated behind the teacher’s desk. A nameplate read _‘Ms. Hassan’_.

There were other students already there, juniors the same age as Arthur or possibly seniors, lounging about and chatting comfortably.

 _Well this is bloody_ fabulous. _Everyone already knows each other._

A boy who had been tracing multicolored light trails in the air with his finger looked over and sat up in his seat suddenly.

“Look everyone; new student! _Ciao_ , New Student!”

The rest of the room stopped talking and turned to look at him.

Arthur felt himself start to flush. This was ridiculous.

The teacher- Ms. Hassan- clapped her hands together once to get everyone’s attention.

“Seats, everyone. He’s the last.”

No one grumbled about this, like Arthur would have expected them too. Now that he saw them all in individual seats like this, he realized just _how_ small the group actually was- five girls and three boys, including him.

Eight students.

The auditorium couldn’t possibly be so crowded that they couldn’t fit in eight more students.

Arthur got a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“This is the _Rehab_ class, isn’t it?” he asked flatly.

Ms. Hassan sighed slightly.

“The school prefers to use _‘Hero Potentials’_.”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and sat down in the front row, where there was an empty seat, and ran his hands through his hair.

 _“Shit,”_ he said quietly.

How was he supposed to tell his mother that he’d gotten stuck _here?_

-

“Well, everyone,” Ms. Hassan said a few moments after he’d sat down and sworn. To Arthur, it felt like silent understanding. “I know we mostly know each other already, but we have _two_ new members this year, so we’re actually going to have to _introduce_ ourselves.”

She looked at her students.

“Well, first person, up, up. You know how this works- name, ancestry, powers, and any cautionary warnings as needed.”

One of the other two boys, not the one who’d been playing with the light, stood up with his hands in his pockets.

“Cezar Dalca. You’ve never heard of my family because we’re all secretly badass Romanian monster hunters; and that is our _only_ power. I carry weaponry on me at all times, so don’t think you can sneak eldritch abominations in here or curse the whole school or anything like that.”

He sat back down.

“Thank you Cezar. Next?”

No one seemed to want to get up.

“Come now, darlings. It’s always a good idea to get any nasty secrets about your family and/or past out right when you meet new people- unless you really _want_ everyone to suddenly turn on you.”

One of the girls stood up.

“I’m Erzsébet Héderváry,” she said. “My father was the Great Magyar Khan who tried to recreate the Hun invasion of Europe. I’m a natural expert at any sort of combat, so don’t mess with me.”

Another girl, apparently emboldened by Erzsébet’s volunteerism, stood immediately after her.

“My name is Ivanka Braginskaya. My grandparents and parents were state heroes in Soviet Russia and personally stole the schematics for nuclear weaponry. I cause irrational fear, panic, and hatred; sometimes without meaning to. I am very sorry in advance if this happens to you.”

Again, there were no more volunteers. Ms. Hassan looked pointedly at all of them.

“Behiye Adnan,” one of the girls said, standing. She was wearing a white half-mask with some sort of sheer fabric set into the eyeholes. “My mother was the Siren. Looking into my eyes causes instant hypnotism in anyone. I can’t control it; the only thing keeping you from losing your free will _permanently_ to me is this mask-”

She tapped it.

“-so no touching.”

Arthur was swiftly coming to the conclusion that most of his classmates were extremely dangerous to his personal well-being.

“I’m Jelte van der Meer,” another girl announced, standing up swiftly. “I’m new. My parents didn’t have powers strong enough for them to be heroes _or_ sidekicks, and I’m not even sure I have one. They sent me here to see if I’d develop one by association or something like that.”

“Say hello to Jelte, class.”

Ms. Hassan’s class repeated the greeting without much enthusiasm.

Arthur stayed silent.

“I’m Feliciano and my last name is Vargas right now but that will probably change the next time one of my relatives breaks out of jail and tries to enslave the world again!” the boy who’d been playing with the lights earlier said- entirely too happily, in Arthur’s opinion. “My grandfather was Novus Caesar, my brother Lovino is The Fixer and our father is The Black Priest! We’re not really sure who our mother was, but she was either the Sphinx or an unwilling sacrificial victim to one of the Dukes of Hell. Maybe both; apparently Satanic conception rituals get _really_ complicated _very_ quickly when a hero decides to interrupt unexpectedly. It makes the demon angry and angry demons are difficult demons.”

“Bloody hell,” Arthur said loudly, not really thinking about it. For a split second, he considered clapping a hand over his mouth, but then decided it was probably better for him to look like he’d meant to say that.

“Exactly!” Feliciano nodded. “Anyway, I can create whatever I can imagine, so it’s really useful but usually I use it for art and pretty things like that because I love beautiful things! Like Luise! She’s very beautiful.”

The girl sitting next to him, the only person besides Arthur who hadn’t introduced herself yet, looked like she was trying to hide behind her hand.

She had gloves on, Arthur noticed, thick black leather ones. Wasn’t it a bit hot for something like that? She was wearing long sleeves and pants as well, and possibly army boots, all black.

 _“Feliciano-”_ she started to say.

“Lui _seeeee,_ ” he half-whined, tugging on her arm to make her stand up. “I know you don’t like talking and especially not about your family but I just admitted that I’m related to the people who tried to become the Emperor of Earth through conquest and Emperor of the Universe through the perpetual infernal enslavement of every life form in existence so you can introduce yourself too no one’s going to bite they _understand_ this stuff in here!”

Luise stood up reluctantly.

“Luise Beilschmidt.”

She said it like she was reporting for drill.

“Grandfather: General Thule. Father: Aryan Might. Brother: the Unholy Ghost.”

“We can’t really confirm that last one but Luise says it’s true so it’s true!” Feliciano supplied.

“Feliciano: Be quiet.”

The boy shut his mouth and made a drawn-out noise of unhappiness.

“Power: Death inducement and material decay via skin contact. If you touch any skin that is still physically attached to me you will rot alive and be dead in approximately fifty-three seconds.”

“See, Luise?” Feliciano asked brightly. “That wasn’t hard at all!”

He locked eyes with her and gently lifted one of her gloved hands, giving it a kiss.

Luise blushed furiously.

Arthur’s first thought was ‘ _Bloody hell, they’re_ dating. _’_

His second was _‘Any child of theirs will be insanely powerful and related to a lot of sick tossers. Please, God, no.’_

Then he realized that Luise and Feliciano had sat back down, and everyone was looking at him expectantly.

Arthur cleared his throat and stood.

“I am Arthur Kirkland and I am new this year. My father was the Agent and my mother is Lady Shakespeare-”

“Ah, Ainsley,” Ms. Hassan said wistfully. “It’s been so long…”

Arthur stared at her.

“What?”

“Oh, Ainsley and I went to school together,” his teacher told him. “Not here, in London. Tell her Sekhmet sends her love.”

“Er- I will…”

“Please continue.”

Arthur resisted the urge to shake his head and proceeded with his introduction.

“The school board couldn’t decide what my power was when they finally decided to admit me, but _I_ bloody well know what it is even if _they_ don’t. I’m a sorcerer.”

“If there are any sudden outbreaks of inexplicable phenomena I’m blaming _you,_ ” Cezar warned.

“Cezar, you’re in a school for _super-powered teenagers,_ ” Erzsebet reminded him. “You can’t just _say_ that.”

“That one time it was extradimensional aliens,” Ivanka reminded him.

“It could be _demons!_ You never know. But if it’s demons _I’ll_ know because I’ve learned what to look for and then I’ll help you exorcise them I’ve gotten really good at that.”

“Say hello to Arthur, class,” Ms. Hassan said tiredly.

 _“Hello, Arthur,”_ everyone chorused.

-

 It was lunchtime.

Arthur slumped out of the room and tried to lurk down the hall towards the cafeteria, hoping that no one would notice who his classmates were.

Unfortunately, it seemed his classmates had different ideas.

“Come on Arthur sit with us sit with us there’s always room at our table!” Feliciano said excitedly, not stopping for breath. The boy grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hallway with the Rehab group.

He couldn’t help but notice how the hall crowd did a spectacular impression of the Red Sea as they traveled along- Feliciano leading the group with a cheerful smile, Luise looming darkly off to his left, Behiye and Ivanka on the right of the group smiling at those they passed in ways that were _entirely_ unreassuring, Erzsébet and Cezar bringing up the rear, glancing around to check the surroundings every few seconds as the crowd ebbed and flowed and moved new people near them.

Arthur and Jelte exchanged a look.

This was a defensive formation.

They reached the cafeteria and Feliciano let go of Arthur’s arm to duck in a side door to the lunch line. He emerged just over a minute later, holding two trays.

“He gets to cut?” Jelte murmured.

Luise fell into line with them as the rest of the group peeled off to a table in the back of the lunchroom, sitting down and pulling out food from home.

“We live at the school,” she told them.

“What?”

“Feliciano and I,” Luise said. “We live at the school. The principle of Sky High is listed as our legal guardian.”

Arthur noticed how everyone else in the line was keeping at least a foot and a half distance from the three of them.

“But why?” Jelte asked.

Luise gave her a long look.

“All our family members are dead or serving at least life sentences,” she reminded her, and then paused. “Except my brother. Someday he’ll come back and get me and I’ll be able to leave.”

“The Unholy Ghost is a _legend,_ ” Arthur said, just as Jelte’s eyes went wide and she incredulously asked: “You can’t _leave_ the _school?_ ”

Luise’s posture got even stiffer- Arthur hadn’t thought that was possible.

“In the interest of public safety Feliciano and I are not permitted to leave school grounds unless we are escorted and/or accompanied by no less than four other superpowered people, none of whom may have ever committed or been suspected of having committed a crime; nor may they have served a sentence for a crime or crimes of any magnitude.”

She sounded a bit like she was reciting from a legal document.

“Oh my God,” Arthur said, in spite of himself. He grabbed a tray as they reached the front of the line and started picking up food.

“When was the last time you left?” Jelte asked; a little hesitantly, like she was scared of the answer.

Luise, who had pulled out of the line slightly to hover near the kitchen wall, stared off into the distance over the lunch counter.

“I’ve never left,” she said quietly. “I’d have to be hosted, and the only people I’ve ever met live with their nonpowered or reformed villain parent.”

Jelte and Arthur handed over their money to the lunch lady.

“How long have you been here?” Arthur asked.

Luise’s gaze was still distant, and now her brow furrowed slightly.

“I… don’t remember,” she told them slowly. “I know Feliciano was… eight? when he was brought here, after they finally caught his father. I’m about the same age as him and I was here before he was-”

“Bloody hell, you haven’t left in nearly _ten years?_ ”

Luise shook her head as they reached the table and sat down; Arthur and Jelte on the end by Ivanka and Cezar, Luise next to Feliciano.

He took one look at her face and hugged her tightly, resting his cheek against her forearm. She lifted one gloved hand, cautiously, and placed it hesitantly in his hair.

Arthur noticed it shaking slightly only when Feliciano moved on arm to grab his girlfriend’s hand and bring it down to cup his cheek. He smiled at her and closed his eyes, turning his face to kiss the leather.

 _She’s scared of touching people,_ Arthur realized suddenly, seeing the unease and hint of panic in her eyes, and remembering the way she had kept a careful distance between her and everyone else as she walked. _She’s scared she’ll kill someone, even with her gloves on._

“Yo, Arthur!” boomed a familiar voice.

Arthur flinched slightly and considered hiding under the table.

Too late.

A tray slammed down on the table next to him and Alfred, true to his promise, sat down next to him.

“Dude, I found you!”

“Go away,” he muttered, covering his eyes with his face.

“Nuh-uh. That assembly was _boring._ Seriously man, you had to be there to know just how mind-numbing it was. You have more fun?”

Arthur moved his head slightly to glare with one eye at the other boy through his fingers.

“Your arm,” he said.

Alfred glanced down, saw a new **_MATTHEW_** written there, and groaned. He pulled out a foil-packaged wet wipe and tore it open, dropping the empty packet onto his lunch tray.

“God- fix this possession thing, man,” he prayed as he scrubbed. “Seriously. It’s not cool.”

“Possession?” Feliciano asked, perking up. “You need an exorcist?”

Alfred looked over at him and shrugged.

“Dunno. Maybe? Unless you can explain this crazy reappearing thing on my arm. It just shows up totally randomly and I never remember writing it. Not in my handwriting either.”

“It’s a _phenomenon!_ ” Cezar exclaimed, banging his fist down hard on the table. He half-stood and leaned forward to give Alfred a worryingly-serious look. “You! Is your house located on a ley line?”

“Uh…” he replied, looking nonplussed.

“Have there been mysterious disappearances in your neighborhood at any time?” Cezar demanded. “Has anyone ever died in your house? Have corpses drained of blood appeared near your area?”

“Dude, you think there’s _aliens?_ ”

“No; but there might be vampires!”

“OhmyGod,” Alfred said, looking completely shell-shocked. “That’s actually really a thing?”

“Not if my family can help it!”

“Holy shit I’m getting Mom to buy all the garlic she can find when I get home.”

“Garlic is bloody useless,” Arthur told him. “That’s just something people made up to make themselves feel better. Find some hawthorn and stock up on birdseed.”

“Birdseed?”

“Vampires are obsessive counters,” Cezar told him, face extremely serious. “If you scatter the bag in front of them they will compelled to stop and count them all. Then you can run away and hope that the sun comes up before they finish.”

“Wow, I did not know that. Thanks dudes.”

“But if it _is_ a ghost or demon and you need an exorcist you can ask me!” Feliciano chirped. “I’m really good at exorcisms I used to have to de-infest my house _allll_ the time.”

“You lived in a _haunted house?_ ” Alfred asked, clearly terrified now.

 “No no no no no _Patre_ summoned demons and they were always hanging around. I had to clear them out of my room before I went to bed or I would wake up possessed and it was _terrible_ by the way you don’t _look_ possessed but sometimes it’s hard to tell I should look at your house but I’m not allowed to leave the school unless maybe both your parents are heroes?” Feliciano asked hopefully.

“Sorry dude,” he replied, shaking his head. “My parents are _totally_ normal. I’m a fluke. Why can’t you leave school?”

“If I leave the school my family might break out of jail and kill people trying to kidnap me,” Feliciano told him matter-of-factly.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

At Alfred’s scandalized expression, the atmosphere of the table dropped significantly.

Feliciano sighed and drooped.

“My father was the Black Priest.”

“That guy who tried to summon all of Hell on Christmas like, seven years ago?”

Feliciano nodded miserably and waited for the other boy to get up and leave.

“Dude, that _seriously_ sucks,” Alfred said sympathetically, and leaned over the table to clap him on the shoulder. “That’s a _terrible_ Christmas present.”

The whole table stared at him.

“What?” he asked them all. “It _is._ ”

Feliciano smiled at him, a little hesitantly.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been much different from all the _other_ Christmases-”

“Woah, wait, have you ever gotten a _normal_ Christmas present?”

Feliciano sighed.

“ _Patre_ never got me anything. _Fratello_ used to but he’s in jail now too and Luise gives me things but _she_ can’t leave the school _either_ so it’s all craft stuff from the art rooms or cookies but that’s nice because she made them all herself!”

“Have you ever even had a _party?_ ” Alfred pressed. “Dinner, a tree?”

He shook his head.


	9. L'Angela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the mood to write some fluff so I did and then I lost motivation.

_“Fratello,”_ Feliciano whined, frowning at the long, angry black line cutting across the page of his sketchbook.

“What?” his brother snapped.

“Look at this!” Feliciano protested, shoving the sketchbook towards him.

“What the hell I’m trying to _drive_ here!” Lovino yelled at him, and jerked the wheel sideways to stay close to the curb.

“Warn me when we’re going around a corner! I’m drawing in _ink!_ ”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d taken the fucking bus!”

“I will _not_ take the school bus!” Feliciano said, crossing his arms. “It is large and noisy and cramped and _disgusting._ ”

“I wish had I morning classes,” Lovino muttered.

“No you don’t you’d be late to all of them because you wouldn’t get to sleep in.”

“I don’t get to sleep in taking you to school!”

“It’s just today!” his younger brother said. “Tomorrow and the day after and the day after that and all the other days I’ll walk unless it’s freezing and then I’ll _make_ you take me.”

“ _Hell_ no. _You’re_ the one who was living up north. The Alps were practically in your fucking _back yard,_ you can _deal_ with some damn snow.”

“But that was _Italian_ snow!” Feliciano declared in a sudden fit of patriotism. “This will be _American_ snow!”

“Then get _signorina_ Héderváry to take you!”

“But she won’t! I was making this picture of her and then you turned the corner and _ruined_ it and now I won’t have a _‘thank you for hosting us’_ present for her and she’ll think I’m rude and hate me and never do nice things for me!”

“Oh my God, Feliciano. _Nonno never_ should have gotten you acting lessons.”

Feliciano sniffled and looked dramatically pathetic.

“But theater is a long and proud Italian tradition.”

“Yeah, well, it’s shit in America. Tone it the hell down.”

“You’re just grumpy that you have to bring me to school and sign papers so they can teach me things,” he informed Lovino as they pulled into the school parking lot, car tires crunching the half-frozen slush slightly.

“It would have been a lot easier if the damn university would have accepted my _fall_ transfer,” Lovino grumbled.

Feliciano was plastered against the window.

“ _Dio mio,_ ” he breathed. _“_ _È un’angela_.”

Lovino pulled into a parking spot.

“Now you listen to me! This is _America,_ not Rome! There’s a whole different culture here, so you can’t act like a fucking idiot all the ti-”

His brother had disappeared from the passenger’s seat.

“What the fu-”

Lovino shoved the car door open and stuck his head over the top of the car. His younger brother was more than halfway across the parking lot, sketchbook clutched in one hand, messenger bag bouncing against his hip, scarf and trench coat flaring out behind him as he sprinted toward the students trickling into the warmth of the building to wait for the start of school.

-

Monika Beilschmidt had had a decent enough Christmas.

Nothing special had happened, really. There was the usual tree, and presents, and her brother trying to sneak into the alcohol and getting caught for the fifth winter in a row by their grandfather. Monika had gotten more books and a few clothes to replace the ones she’d worn out or outgrown; and given in return a fancy desk set (for _Groβvater_ ) and the majority of the last three months’ allowances (for _Bruder_ , and she pointedly didn’t ask what he was going to use it for).

So now she was back in school, and, as always, braced for the worst of what could possibly happen.

A lot of ‘worst’ could happen when you had Gilbert for a brother.

It wasn’t the misbehaving, or the attitude, or the temper.

It was the coughing, and the wheezing, and the fatigue; the cramps and pain and hours in the bathroom. It was the bruising and the blood. The way people parted in the hallways, refusing to look or touch; only to do too much of both in class or on the way home.

That the only person in school besides her who would tolerate his presence- who actually seemed to _enjoy_ it- had been held back so many times that he was pushing the legal age to still be _in_ school.

“Gilbert, Monika! _Mes chers_!”

Monika was not overly fond of Francis Bonnefoy; the most recent reason being that he had to come in early about some academic thing or other and wasn’t available to drive her brother to school like he usually did.

So she’d had to walk with Gilbert, checking him nervously every minute or so for signs of fatigue and strain, worrying the entire fifteen minutes it took to get from their house to the school that it would be too much for her brother and that he’d pass out or collapse in the snow from the exertion.

Damn Francis. Couldn’t he have gotten his _other_ friend, the one who had actually _graduated,_ to pick Gilbert up? Antonio was so accommodating that it was hard to believe he’d ever turn his friends down.

Actually, Monika realized- half a mile of snow and ice and one sick, exhausted brother too late- she should have just called him directly.

Gilbert stepped off the last stair onto the floor of the cafeteria without incident and pushed himself away from his sister before she could apologize.

-

“ _Scusi_ , _scusi_!” Feliciano said hurriedly, slipping past the other students attempting to get through the cafeteria doors and doing a little judicious shoving as necessary. “Um- _ehi_! _Signorina!_ ”

His shout made half the student body look up in curiosity.

Feliciano dashed down the stairs two at a time and caught himself at the bottom before he fell over.

 _“You!”_ he exclaimed, dropping his sketchbook in favor of reaching up and grasping the girl’s surprised face in both hands, pulling her close. “You are the most _beautiful_ woman I have seen in my entire life and I _must_ draw you!”

His vision was full of wide eyes and blushing cheeks.

“Er-”

“Your eyes are the color of the summer sky and your hair the noon sun on the Adriatic! Your cheeks- Your hands- Your figure- ahhh-”

His English disappeared as he was overcome with emotion.

“ _Sei cos_ _ì magnifica_.”

“Um-”

Over her shoulder, Feliciano spotted his brother bursting through the front doors of the school.

“Ah! Oh, oh, I have to go!”

He grabbed her hands and looked earnestly into her eyes.

“Call me! I have to escape!”

Quickly, before Lovino could get any closer, he swooped in and gave her kiss on the cheek.

“ _Arrivederci_ , _bella_!” he called over his shoulder as he ran off across the cafeteria.

-

Monika stood stock-still and _stared_ at the stranger dashing away from her.

“What the hell,” Gilbert said, glaring after him.

Francis sighed, sounding much too happy.

“Ah, he has an artist’s soul.”

She glanced down and saw the abandoned sketchbook. Leaning over, she picked it up and opened it, intending to smooth out the bent pages and search for a name.

Instead, she found herself enchanted by the artwork.

It was so- realistic. Yet expressive. The people looked like people, and the buildings like buildings, the trees like trees- but they had movement. Emotion.

The pages were either jumbles of sketches or one or two larger, fully realized pieces; in charcoal, pencil, ink, chalk, what was probably watercolor- everything Monika had ever heard of a quite a few she was pretty sure she never had.

This was exactly the sort of thing she’d been trying for in her art classes for _years,_ but had never managed to accomplish.

Very carefully, Monika unbent the pages damaged by the book’s sudden impact with the floor and flipped to the front cover.

On the first page, in neat, concise penmanship, was:

 _Feliciano Andrea Vargas_  
2 Calle Lanza, Dorsoduro, Venezia  
341-2503421

Little sketches of waterways and boats and Renaissance architecture details littered the white space around the words.


	10. "Fluffy Gerita"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, fluff I lost motivation for. It was going to be a fun romp through Feliciano's family in Little Italy.

Dr. Luise Beilschmidt, Professor of Political Science at the City University of New York, was halfway through an inter-departmental lecture with Visiting Professor Bonifay when there was a knock on the window.

She ignored it.

At the second knock, the students in the first few rows of the miniature lecture/seminar room glanced over. So did Professor Bonifay, who smiled beguiling at her as the room started to fill with giggles and chuckles.

Luise set her shoulders, exhaled deeply, and forced herself to keep a perfectly straight face as she marched over to the window and flung it open, sticking her head partway out.

The kiss came before she could begin the usual reprimand. There were some whistles and the usual cheers of encouragement, as well as Bonifay’s swivel chair creaking as he leaned back in it, enjoying the spectacle.

“ _Buon pomeriggio_ , sweetheart!”

“I told you to stop doing this, Feliciano!” she hissed at the man beaming at her.

“Hey, Mr. Vargas!” one of her cheekier students called.

“Hi!” he called back, leaning to the side to wave and take a look at the students. Luise grabbed him by the front of his suit jacket, irrationally worried that he would tip over the ornamental edge of the period fire escape she’d been trying to convince the school to get inspected for a while.

“ _Grazie_ , darling!” Feliciano said, flinging his arms around her. “I brought you lunch- well, kind of, really I’m bringing _you_ to lunch I guess-”

“I’m _teaching a class-_ ”

Feliciano made a little whine in the back of his throat and looked pleadingly at Professor Bonifay.

“B-but my one o’clock cancelled and I’m _hungry_ and I want to spend time with you!” he pleaded, hugging her tighter as she tried to pull away. “Please please please François?”

François swung his feet off the desk and stood up, clapping his hands a few times.

“Go, go, children! Class is done! Shoo, let our _fin docteur_ learn of love!”

He herded the students out and winked at Feliciano before slipped out himself and closing the door.

Feliciano let Luisa go. She straightened up indignantly.

“Feliciano Vargas if you cannot control yourself-”

He flopped down on the windowsill and held a hand out enticingly.

“ _Veni con me_ , _la vita mia_ ,” Feliciano said softly. “ _Mi ha permesso mostro ti il mondo_.” (Come with me, my life. Let me show you the world)

“Stop that,” Luise scolded him, blushing furiously. “You _know_ I have no idea what you just said.”

“I’m only saying nice things!” he promised brightly, and got off the sill, straightening and opening the window fully; then holding his hand out to her through the opening. “Right this way, Madame Doctor.”

“Feli-”

He smiled sweetly and beckoned.

Internally reprimanding herself for being so irresponsible as to let her lecture dismiss early to be frivolous with the sweetest man she’d ever loved, Luise clipped her papers back together and slotted them into her briefcase. She dropped the case onto the fire escape before letting Feliciano take her hand and help her climb out the window.

When she’d put both feet down on the iron grating of the escape, Feliciano bent over and kissed her hand gently, eyes never leaving hers.

Luise fumbled behind herself for the window, but Feliciano got there first, using his free hand to shove the window closed and press Luise’s back against the glass for another kiss on the lips, slow and soft as he cupped her face.

They ended with noses touching, Feliciano tucking hair behind her ear and smiling before pulling away and offering his arm. Luise picked up her briefcase, and he escorted her down the fire escape to his car, parked on the curb. The briefcase went in the trunk and Luise in the passenger’s seat.

“So where _is_ lunch?” she asked as he pulled into traffic.

“It’s a surprise!”

Luise resigned herself to his ideas and just let him drive.

-

Not very long after, they were in a part of the city Luise hadn’t seen before- only the street names gave it away.

“Little Italy.”

“I haven’t actually showed you where I grew up yet,” he said. “I thought it was time.”

They parked in the tiny courtyard of a church, whose doors opened as they exited the car.

“Feliciano! Feliciano!”

Small children scattered left and right out the front of the church as the priest bounded down the stairs, holding his robes up like a skirt.

“Feliciano you should have said you were coming!” he scolded breathlessly as he flung his arms around him.


	11. Volterra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to take Twilight seriously and then cross it over with Hetalia and we're not going to talk about why I did this because I don't remember why I thought it was a good idea.
> 
> I don't even _like_ Twilight.

_Volterra, Tuscany, Italy  
March 19 th_

Feliciano Vargas drove under the Porta dell’Arco and was secretly pleased to see that it was raining on the town’s festival day. Part of it, he knew, was a lingering desire for _anything_ of Florence’s to go wrong; but mostly it was because it made the unscheduled meeting he’d arrived for easier to get.

He parked right on the side of the road and wandered the streets, searching for a familiar face.

It didn’t take long to find one.

A voluptuous woman was standing out in the rain, entertaining a few bedraggled tourists with the history of the buildings on the street. They were edging closer and closer to the castle at the end of road.

“ _Signora_!” Feliciano called, lifting one hand in greeting.

The woman immediately stopped talking and plastered a tense smile across her face. The humans didn’t notice, but he did.

“ _Signora_ , I thought you’d stopped this business,” he told her pleasantly, placing one hand on her arm.

“It’s… profitable,” she forced herself to say.

Feliciano nodded sagely.

“Profit is good, I know, I know.”

He turned to the impromptu tourist group.

                “ _Ciao_ , welcome to Tuscany! It’s very pretty here, isn’t it, even when it’s raining! You should go inside and get some food- we have good restaurants, _s_ _ì_?”

                Some of the tourists looked a little dazed, but a few more alert ones murmured in agreement and started to wander off.

                “I hope you enjoy your stay!” he called after them, then turned his attention back to the woman, smile gone.

                “The _signori_ Volturi _promised_ me they would stop baiting tourists, Heidi.”

                The vampire did her best to look nonchalant.

                “Why don’t you come discuss it with them, _signor_ Veneziano?”

                Feliciano gestured at her to take the lead.

                She took him down to the end of the road and strode through the doors of the castle into the main hall, made up to look like the lobby of a tourist stop.

                The outer guard and the human receptionist looked up at them as they walked in.

                “Only one today, Heidi?” one of the guards said jokingly.

                Feliciano stopped and glared.

                The vampire’s eyes widened a little and he retreated with a ‘ _Mi scusi_ , _signor_ Veneziano’.

                The Nation huffed and pushed past Heidi into the deeper areas of the castle, eventually pushing open old, heavy double doors with both hands.

                His dress shoes clacked across the waxed tile. There were a few ripples of movement as the inner guard noticed him, recognized his face, and relaxed slightly.

                At the other end of the room, Aro rose from his seat and started walking towards him, arms out and a smile on his face.

                “Felicianus!” he said warmly. “A surprise visit; how unexpected-”

                Feliciano stopped a few feet away from him and kept his bare hands in his pockets.

                “I came because I am hearing things I do not _like,_ Aro,” he told the vampire. “I come, thinking perhaps you can enlighten me, and then I find your _fisher_ out in the streets. I thought we had an agreement.”

                “We have had many agreements, Felicianus,” Aro reminded him, affecting a slight tone of confusion.

                “The one where you agree not to kill my tourists.”

                “Ah, _Signore_ , you see, Heidi is quite stubborn,” he told Feliciano blithely. “And our outer guard, well, they have not developed the levels of tolerance that we have in our old age.”

                “ _My_ tourists,” the Nation reminded him. “My economy; my international relations.”

                Aro stood there smiling for a few moments more, and Feliciano waited him out.

                “We will see, _Signore_. Perhaps I can convince some of the others.”

                “Hmn.”

                Feliciano took his hands out of his pockets.

                “What is this I am hearing about America?”

                “You have sharp ears, Felicianus, to hear that all the way in Rome.”

                “The Americans are young and ignorant; but they aren’t _stupid._ They _know_ when something is going on even if they don’t know what it is. They start complaining and I look at the news and there are too many dead people in Seattle, and then suddenly one day I am sitting doing work and then you are all _gone._ ”

                “We were having… coven troubles. We solved it. No worries.”

                Feliciano gave him a sharp look.

                “What troubles?”

                “Child troubles.”

                Feliciano’s nostrils flared.

                “How many died?” he demanded angrily.

                Aro smiled uneasily.

                “None. It was simply an informative misunderstanding.”

                “ _Aro-_ ”

                “The most _extraordinary_ thing occurred. There was a human girl, with a talent so strong it was there even before she turned… she had a child.”

                The Nation narrowed his eyes at him.

                “Before or after?”

                “Before. With one of us.”

                Feliciano was silent.

                “One of Carlisle’s coven. You remember Carlisle?”

                “I remember you _telling_ me about him,” Feliciano replied warily. “A human and a vampire?”

                “Apparently it has happened before; in the Amazon.”

                Veneziano drummed his fingers against his leg.

                “And this child is controllable?” he demanded.

                “The girl is in complete control of herself. Her mother is with the coven now. The whole story is rather interesting; I shall have to tell it to you. There are shape-shifters in it, too.”

                “Later,” Feliciano told him, filing the mention of shape-shifters away for later. “Where are they now?”

                Aro raised an eyebrow.

                “I don’t believe they have moved since last saw them. I imagine they will have to soon, but-”

_“Where?”_

                “Aro,” another vampire interrupted. He was still seated. “Just send him on his way.”

                Aro turned towards him slightly.

                “Now, Caius, is that any way to be gracious to an old friend?”

                “He’s _no_ friend.”

                The lead vampire’s jaw clenched slightly at that, and he turned back to Feliciano with a strained smile.

                “No need for this unpleasantness,” he said smoothly. “ _Signor_ Veneziano, I would be _more_ than pleased to tell you where they are- but what if I _show_ you, instead?”

-

_Forks, Washington, USA  
March 21 st_

                Feliciano sat in the back seat of the car, staring out at the dank scenery.

                _What a dismal place. So dark and dreary._

                The driver rapped on the glass divider with one knuckle, keeping his eyes on the road. Feliciano leaned forward and slid the partition open slightly.

                “ _S_ _ì_ , Santiago?”

                “Forks coming up, _Signore_. Technically, we just crossed the town line.”

                “ _Grazie_ ,” he replied, and closed the partition, settling back in his seat to look out at the woods.

                Something dark flitted past, behind the trees. He saw it again, and then another.

                This time, he tapped on the glass.

                “Stop the car.”

                The vampire pulled over to the side of the road, tires crunching and skidding slightly on the still-damp forest debris.

                Feliciano pushed the door open and stepped out, ambling over to the edge of the trees. Behind him, he heard the driver’s door slam shut as Santiago hovered by the car, watching everything.

                Feliciano closed his eyes and listened.

                A slight panting, of something large. The feeling of being watched was familiar now, after so many years fighting in field and forest and at night, in trenches or behind enemy lines.

                He started to step into the trees, and then the sound of a car pulling to stop made him pause.

                He turned.

                “Morning to you two,” a police officer said, getting out of his patrol car. “Auto troubles?”

                Feliciano put on his best smile.

                “No, Officer, just taking a short rest break.”

                “Better places to do that,” the officer told him. “Keep driving a few minutes and you’ll be in Forks. There’s restaurants and-”           

                “We know, Officer,” Feliciano interrupted him smoothly. “That’s where we’re headed.”

                The man perked up, interested and slightly suspicious. His eyes flickered towards the car and Santiago, looming in his long dark coat and mirrored sunglasses.

                “Oh? Who are coming to see?”

                “A Dr. Cullen. We’ve mutual acquaintances, and I have heard… interesting things about him and his family. I thought it was time for a visit.”

                “The Cullens, huh?”

                Feliciano noted the tone of his voice.

                “You know them?”

                “Everyone knows the Cullens. My daughter married their youngest earlier this year.”

                “Ah!” Feliciano exclaimed, mentally wishing that the man would just _go away_ already. He could still feel the watching eyes of the woods behind him. “You must be _signor_ Swan! A pleasure to meet you.”

                Charlie Swan eyed him.

“And you…”

“ _Signor_ Veneziano,” he replied, bowing slightly.

“Are you Spanish?” Officer Swan asked suddenly.

“Ah, no, _signore_. Santiago there is Spanish. _I_ am Italian- from Venice. My acquaintances are from Volterra.”

                There was no mistaking it. Feliciano could hear a low growl from the trees. He watched Santiago stiffen- but, as with many things, the human didn’t pick up on it.

                “Hm,” Officer Swan said.

                Feliciano tipped his hat at him.

                “A pleasure talking to you, _signor_ Swan, but I have a schedule to keep with Dr. Cullen.”

                “Of course, of course,” the man replied. “Enjoy Forks.”

                “I’ll certainly do my best!” Feliciano reassured him, allowing Santiago to open the car door for him. The vampire slipped back into the front seat with evident relief, then pulled the car from the side of the road and started to drive towards town.

-

                Charlie Swan watched them go, the fished out his cell.

                “Hey, Bells,” he said as soon as his daughter picked up the other line.

                “Charlie!” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you working right now?”

                “I’ve got a few minutes. Odd thing just happened- I stopped to check on a car parked on the side of the road and offer to call a tow truck if they needed it, and they said they were coming to visit Dr. Cullen and the rest of you.”

                _“Really?”_ Bella asked, surprised.

                On her end of the line, Edward looked at her questioningly. She spoke to him quickly, in a frequency higher than her human father could ever possibly hear.

                _'Charlie says he talked to some people who said they were coming to visit us. Are the Denalis coming?’_

                Edward shook his head.

                “You know anything about this, Bells?”

                “Nope,” she replied. “Maybe Dr. Cullen wanted it to be a surprise. Did they say where they were coming from?”

                “Italy. Something about mutual acquaintances.”

                “Oh,” Bella said, working to keep her voice even. She immediately searched the room, and her eyes settled on her daughter, sitting on the couch next to the ever-present Jacob Black. “Well, _that’s_ certainly a surprise.”

                Alice had come down the stairs to give her a look similar to the one Edward still wore. Emmett had turned away from the TV and Rosalie had ducked in from the garage.

                “Sorry if I ruined it for you, Bells.”

                “No, that’s okay Charlie. Thanks for calling. Now get back to work. You never know, someone might be robbing the outdoor supply store!”

                On the other end, her father laughed, said his goodbyes, and hung up.

                “Bella-” Edward started to ask.

                It took her less than a second to scoop her daughter up from the couch between Jacob and Emmett. Reneesme squirmed in her hold.

                _I’m too big for this, Mama,_ she thought at her.

                “You’re never too big for this,” Bella whispered to her, squeezing her tighter.

                “Bella-”

                “Charlie said he just talked to some people stopped by the side of the road. They said they were coming to visit us- from _Italy._ ”

                “We just got rid of them!” Rosalie hissed. “They backed down! What are the Volturi doing coming back _now?_ ”

                “One car isn’t enough to make any sort of attack on us,” Jasper called from the other end of the house, where he’d been listening in on the conversation.

                “I’m calling Carlisle,” Edward declared, standing. “Emmett, go get Esme. Bella-”

                He looked worriedly at his wife.

                “Stay in here with Nessie and Jacob.”

                “Her name is _not_ Nessie-”

                The distant sound of a car driving through the woods surrounding the house made her pause.

                “I’ll go out front,” Alice volunteered, and immediately disappeared, whisking past the slightly-frantic-looking Esme, newly arrived from the forest.

-

                Feliciano saw the house in the forest get closer and closer, noting the figure standing at the end of the drive and ignoring them in favor of watching the forest for more signs of movement.

                None came, and before long, Santiago had stopped the car and was opening his door for him. Feliciano stepped out, took stock of his surroundings, and had turned half around before the vampire who had been standing at the end of the drive tackled him and sunk her fangs into his neck.

                He was too surprised to do anything before he started to die.

-

                Alice watched the car get closer and closer, trying to figure out who was inside it.

                She hadn’t had a single inkling of a visit from the Volturi! Not one, no hint, and not even a headache from blocked visions. Just the sudden realization that she’d never seen a thing about today.

                The car rumbled to a stop, the engine cutting off.

                A familiar vampire stepped out of the driver’s seat.

                Alice glared at Santiago’s back, trying to figure out why a Volturi would possibly take a car when running was so much faster-

                -and then he opened the door to the back seat.

                A young man stepped out, a fedora on his head and a long black coat buttoned and tied neatly over the silk of the incredibly nice suit she could see peeking out just above the leather dress shoes, his cream silk scarf dangling over his shoulders and down his neck.

                Alice took a breath, and the smell blew straight past executive reasoning and appealed directly to base instinct, which responded with a desperate _yes;_ and she forced the man down to the ground and sunk her teeth into the skin that silk scarf had been hiding.

                The sweetest blood she’d ever smelled slid down her throat. She opened her mouth wider and bit down again, harder, desperate for more.

                _“NO!”_ someone behind her screamed, and rough hands grabbed her and pulled her away. She snarled as her teeth were ripped from the man’s flesh, trying to claw at Santiago, but he had her pinned against the still-frozen dirt.

                Over his shoulder, she could just see Esme dash forward with concern and fear in her eyes, then falter, her expression turning towards something much more feral even as she stopped breathing and covered her mouth and nose with her hands, trying to block out the smell. She heard Jasper running fast in the opposite direction, deep into the woods, and Emmett leaning against the door of the house, trying to keep the aroma of such potent spilled blood outside.

                A deep, rumbling growl turned into an enraged roar as Jacob Black, in wolf form, leapt over all of them. His paws skidded against the ground as he hunched over the fallen man, protecting him, teeth bared at Esme, who was clearly fighting an internal battle whose outcome had yet to be determined.

                Santiago forced her head to the side, away from the man she’d attacked, and Alice saw Carlisle running up the drive, expression horrified.

                “Alice!” he murmured despondently, eyes leaving the man on the ground for merely an instant, focusing in on the blood staining her mouth and teeth and running in rivulets down her neck.

                Jacob turned his attention from Esme to Carlisle, still growling, hackles up.

                Carlisle raised his hands complacently.

                “Jacob- I won’t hurt him. Let me near him, there might still be time-”

                The wolf growled one last time at him, warningly, and moved aside, staying between the man and Esme, forcing the vampire to back up.

                Santiago hauled Alice up and dragged her towards the house, grabbing Esme on the way. They moved just slowly enough to see Carlisle check the man’s pulse, and then watch how his expression faded into resignation and sadness, his hand falling away from the man’s lifeless neck.

-

                Santiago forced the door open despite Emmett’s weight on the other side of it and kicked it shut behind him, shoving Esme at the large man. Ignoring the rest of the coven’s protests, he dragged Alice into the kitchen, turned on the tap full blast, and forced her head under it.

                She thrashed in his grasp, trying to get away from the water blocking her sight and smell. She took a few garbled breaths, trying to expel the liquid she’d inhaled on accident.

                Santiago waited until the water ran clear before releasing her.

                Alice shoved herself away from the sink, coughing up water, dripping the stuff all over the tile floor.

                “Alice!” Edward exclaimed in despair. “What-”

                Jacob Black pushed past him, glaring furiously.


	12. The Nation and the Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was cleaning out my phone just now and found a few very, very short Hetalia pieces buried in my Notes function. One of them, _Angels_ , worked as a stand-alone and has been posted as such; but this one just feels like it has something _missing_ , so I'm putting it here.
> 
> Anyhow- I wrote this around sometime when Captain America: The Winter Soldier came out. I had my other Hetalia/MCU fic, _The Company They Kept_ in mind when I wrote it, so this _technically_ kind-of belongs there? I vaguely promised/thought that there would be a sequel to that, and while this isn't it, I may pull it later to form the basis for, or part of, that fic.

The Winter Soldier woke in warmth. It was a slow process, strange, and everything was soft and confused around the edges.

Where was the pain? The orders? The cold and the lab and the Red Room-

He couldn’t think straight.

He was in a bad, tucked in under sheets and blankets, curtains mostly drawn to the keep the lighting low. He could smell a wood fire nearby, the flicker of an in-use fireplace threw shadows on the ceiling above him.

It was home? He was dreaming? The war-

No, he’d never been in a war. He’d been in war zones, but he wasn’t a soldier, he-

This was all so wrong, so why did he feel safe?

For a second, he had a vague, jumbled hope that Natasha had come to get him.

“Hello,” a voice said softly then, and it wasn’t Natasha. It wasn’t anyone he recognized. That should have made this a danger, so why did he feel calm? Safe?

He turned his head to look.

There was a man sitting in a thickly-stuffed chair not very far away. He was large, but sitting in a way to look smaller. Everything about him said soft; from the thick handmade scarf to the slippers. His coloring was something The Winter Soldier wouldn’t forget anytime soon- a strange platinum blonde that was more gray than anything, and droopy gray-purple eyes.

He didn’t look like a threat, except for the obvious breadth and strength in his frame, which probably meant he was twenty kinds of viciously deadly.

“I am Ivan,” the man continued. “What do they call you?”

As if _‘Ivan’_ didn’t know already.

“The Winter Soldier.”

Ivan was smiling, just a little, but his eyes fell slightly.

“A name. Not a title.”

It took a long time to come up with an answer, but finally-

“Yakov?”

“Yakov, then,” Ivan said comfortably, and stood up. “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

This was the Red Room. It had to be. They’d woken him up to continue the punishment for Natasha.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

Ivan was at his bedside suddenly; one large hand on the side of Yakov’s face, gray-purple eyes completely open.

“I want you to remember, Yakov,” Ivan told him firmly.

And Yakov was gone, floating through faded memories with Ivan’s voice weaving quietly in and out of his awareness.


	13. Elise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea where this was going from here, besides that Feliks and Falko and Charlotte try to get Ludwig hooked up with somebody, and that somebody ends up being Feliciano. I also remember there was something important with Natalya and there was some whole backstory about her and Ivan and Yekateryna moving from Russia but I just don't remember it.
> 
> So have the fluffy family stuff that I did manage to get down.

Other people might have taken the pictures down and hidden them away, or tore them in half, or burned them, or done _something_ quite incredibly- and to his mind, needlessly- dramatic.

                Other people were not Ludwig Beilschmidt.

                His daughter was seven and her mother was by no stretch of the imagination anything but a wonderful woman and Ludwig wouldn’t hear a _word_ spoken against Charlotte Zeghers, because they were very good friends and yes; it had been a mistake to marry her, but it was a mistake he wouldn’t have rather made with anyone else.

                “Dad, Dad, I want strawberries.”

                “Go get them then.”

                “Can I cut them?”

                Ludwig looked down at his daughter from minding the waffle iron. She was clinging to the edge of the counter and she was so _small-_

                 “Do you have your knife, Elise?”

                Elise showed him the small-bladed paring knife she was allowed to use.

                “Then go get the cutting board and the strawberries and do it here-” he said, patting the counter. “-where I can see you.”

* * *

                Friday was a good day, in Elise’s opinion, and not just because it was the last day of school for the week. Friday meant no history lessons- they were _boring,_ her dad had taught her it all already- and the time was filled with the End of the Week Activity.

                And today, on _this_ Friday- her mom came home!

So when Ms. Braginskaya told them all to take out their crayons and colored pencils and started passing out sheets of paper, because this week’s activity was to draw your family- it was _perfect!_

                Elise got her yellow and her brown and her tan and her blue and her black and started to work. Her dada was all colors- yellow hair and blue eyes, just like her, and black pants and shoes, but his shirts were _lots_ of colors, which one- green, okay, Mom said the green one was his best one; and he always wore his black tie with the green shirt.

                She drew the sleeves rolled up, because all the _interesting_ things like reading to her out of his books or working in the kitchen happened with his sleeves rolled up- should she add a book? She should.

                Elise stole a look at the paper of the boy sitting next to her. She’d thought she’d do the picture of the family outside, but books-

                Oh! The garden table!

                She drew in the garden table and put the books and Dad’s glasses on top; and started on her mom, who would go on the opposite side.

                Mom wasn’t _nearly_ as colorful as Dad- her hair was brown and her clothes were brown and tan and her boots were black-

                She looked at her picture-mom for a moment, then poked the boy sitting next to her in the side.

                “Stop it!” Alfred demanded.

                “Can I see your book?” she asked.

                Alfred looked a little suspicious.

                “Why?”

                “Because I have to draw a gun and I want a picture to look at to make it better-”

                Alfred’s eyes lit up.

                “A _gun!_ ” he exclaimed. “Is your dad a police officer?”

                “ _No-_ he’s a history professor!”

                “So, is your _mom_ a police officer?”

                “No, she’s a _soldier._ ”

                That was good enough for Alfred, who pulled out the book he’d brought to school about World War Two for her to look at.

                “Is she a _paratrooper?_ ” he asked.

                “No, she’s-” Elise stopped to think about it. “-a _cavalry_ officer. She tells the tanks what to do.”

                “You should draw a tank!”

                “She doesn’t bring them _home!_ ” Elise told him, a little annoyed. “So what’re you drawing?”

                Alfred pushed his paper a little closer to her.

                “That’s Matt,” he said, pointing to a tall blonde in a red jacket and a white shirt. He was standing next to a shorter blonde person who was probably Alfred. “He’s my older brother and he’s _awesome._ ”

                He made a face before pointing at the other person on the paper, who was way over on the side.

                “That’s Pap- _Francis,_ ” Alfred told her, looking angry. “That’s the guy my dad married but then they got _divorced_ and Matt said Dad was a drunk asshole and that’s why we don’t talk about him anymore but he’s _wrong_ and Francis made us move down here after instead of staying in Canada-”

                “You used to live in Canada?” Elise asked, interested. “My dad used to live in Germany but when he married Mom he came here.”

                “I lived in Ukraine,” Ivan said softly.

                At first, Elise hadn’t thought it was Ivan because Ivan _never_ talked unless Ms. Braginskaya asked him to, and she almost never did. He always did what you told him to in games, though, as long as he didn’t have to open his mouth; so Elise thought he was probably okay.

                Ivan shyly showed them his picture, which was of three people- two tall blonde women with him in between- in the snow.

                “There was lots of snow in Ukraine,” he said.

                “Who’s _that?_ ” Alfred asked, sticking his finger on the woman in the picture who clearly _wasn’t_ Ms. Braginskaya, because her hair wasn’t braided up in a crown. “Your sister?”

                _“No!”_ Ivan protested, and turned red. He snatched his picture away. “That’s my _mother!_ ”

                “And how are we doing over here?”

                That was Ms. Braginskaya, and Elise was suspicious about her timing.

                “I thought _you_ were his mom!” Alfred accused.

                “No, I’m his aunt,” Ms. Braginskaya told him. “I see you’ve all done well with your pictures- oh, Antonio?”

                The third boy at their little square of four desks was hunched over his paper, clutching a blue crayon that was worn down to nearly the paper wrapping. He didn’t talk that much either; but that was because he was new, and not so great at English.

                Slowly, Antonio got up off his paper. It had two pairs of people at the top, holding hands, and one person in the bottom.

                “I did it right?” he asked fearfully. “Mama and Papa died-”

                His hand was on the two people in the top right of the paper.

                “and _T-Z-_ ”

                He tried to remember the right word.

                “ _Aunt_ Spasia and Un-cle-”

                That was carefully said, Antonio’s face screwed up in concentration.

                “-Lovino too-”

                His hand was on the pair in the top left, now.

                “-b-but Uncle Feli’s still here-”

                He looked like he was going to _cry,_ and Elise realized the reason Antonio’s blue crayon was so worn down was because he was very carefully filling in the entire sky, but for white winged-shaped areas around the people at the top of the paper.

                “You did it just right, Antonio,” Ms. Braginskaya said.

* * *

                It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Natalya Braginskaya, not by a long shot.

                She was the _weird_ one at the high school- the foreigner, the one was really too old to still be in school (she was 20- she’d failed her first two years of trying to be an American high school student), the one who barely talked and didn’t smile and didn’t look like she cared about anything at all, really.

                The only reason _he’d_ known better was because it was her and him and maybe five other people who weren’t that great at being in class regularly who actually _took_ Russian past the second level, and she _definitely_ cared about her native language.

                _“Mother!”_ a small boy screamed in Russian as he ran towards her; and Natalya picked him up, smiling and laughing and teasing.

                Two things, now, that he knew Natalya Braginskaya cared about- her language, and her son.

                “I didn’t knowthat was his _mom,_ ” Alfred complained. He’d made it very clear earlier today that he resented the fact that Papa had to work late, so they’d have to _walk_ home.

                “I didn’t either,” Matthew said thoughtfully.

* * *

                It had been just the two of them on the plane, and usually Charlotte wouldn’t have switched off an army plane home to a civilian one, but the only people who were headed home to this particular base were her and Captain Sebastian Zwingli, Heavy Artillery, who’d been stationed with her overseas and was now being reassigned right along with her. The army had said they could wait a couple extra days and join a military plane headed their way then, or get off with everyone else and book new seats on a commercial flight.

                There were some perks to flying in fatigues- the airport staff were extra-helpful, and the plane stewardesses were freer with the water and soda and snacks, and sometimes the pilot was ex-military.

                Sebastian’s favorite part was the active military discount on the plane tickets.

                Civilians always seemed to think that the best part of flying in fatigues was the random strangers thanking them for their service, Charlotte reflected as she smiled and said _‘no, thank **you** ’_ to yet another happy American citizen. But all _she_ wanted to do was have people stop talking to her, get out of this _fucking terminal_ , and see her daughter and brother and Ludwig and get her ride back to her house.

                “You’re damn lucky to have an ex like that,” Sebastian had told her when she’d talked about Ludwig.

                “I know,” she’d said.

                And now they were out and they’d claimed their baggage and waiting in pick-up arrivals space were Elise, running for her, and Ludwig, hanging behind to let her go first.

                “Mom Mom Mom _MOM!_ ” Elise shrieked, and launched herself at Charlotte’s legs. “Look, today in class we had to draw our families so I made one of you and Dad and it’s for you and also we went to the store and I picked a card and Dad bought it here.”

                “Thank you, Elise,” Charlotte said, and took the paper and the envelope. “Where’s your uncle?”

                “Dad said he was _busy,_ ” Elise complained, her tone making clear that there couldn’t _possibly_ be anything more important than coming to see her.

                “His car broke down and he had to go get it before the shop closed for the night,” Ludwig elaborated.

                Charlotte grabbed him in a hug and relaxed as Ludwig’s arms closed around her. It was safe, and familiar, and still said _home_ to her.

                “How was it this time?” Ludwig murmured, holding her tightly.

                “Okay,” she said, burying her face in his chest. “I need a while. Quiet. The house.”

                “All right,” he said, pulling back. “Tell me if there’s anything else.”

                “Can you give Sebastian a lift too?” Charlotte asked. “He’s staying with me for a while.”

                “I can do that.”

* * *

                It wasn’t actually _abnormal_ for Feliks to check his e-mail and find that he had a message from Professor Beilschmidt to come see him in his office, but usually it was a text message instead. He didn’t think much of it, and went up to the history department.

                He stopped short when he entered Professor Beilschmidt’s office, because it wasn’t Professor Beilschmidt sitting at the desk- it was one of the Economics faculty.

                “Professor Zeghers?”

                “You see that?” Falko Zeghers said, pointing his unlit cigarette at him before jamming it back in his mouth to continue chewing on the end. “That, that right there. _That’s_ why we have a problem. You’ve never met me before in your _life,_ but you know who I am.”

                “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” Feliks said. “Where’s Professor Beilschmidt?”

                “Not here,” Falko shrugged. “Close the door.”

                Feliks wasn’t happy about it, but he did, and sat down.

                “So my sister was talking to me yesterday about her ex-husband, and it was all: _‘It’s sad and lonely that his best friends are his seven-year-old daughter and his undergrad minion, hook him up with someone, Falko’_.”

                He glared at the college student sitting casually about a foot from him.

                “Those were her _exact words,_ Łukasiewicz.”

                “So, you e-mailed me from Professor Beilschmidt’s account because you wanted to trick me into coming up here and telling me that his ex-wife wants him to move on with his life? ‘Cause that’s like, _really_ shady and also _totally_ unnecessary.”

                “My fiancé works for the IT people,” the man shrugged. “I told him I was matchmaking and he hacked me into Beilschmidt’s account.”

                That did not seem like ethical behavior to Feliks, and he wondered if he should hunt down a friend of a friend who was studying computer security.

                “You’re his research assistant,” Falko continued. “You two spend _hours_ over coffee in the campus café nerding out over history. _You **babysit** his **kid.**_ ”

                “Your _niece,_ ” Feliks felt compelled to point out.

                Falko ignored him.

                “You know him better than me. What does he like?”

                “Your _sister._ ”

                Falko jabbed the cigarette he was chewing to death at him.

                “Yeah, well that’s not going to work, is it?”

                “That’s all I’ve got,” Feliks said. “He liked your sister enough to marry her. And me and Elise are _not_ his only friends, he hangs out with Professor Edelstein and Professor Héderváry and Professor Adnan and Professor Wang sometimes too.”

                “I’ve heard of Edelstein,” Falko said. “What about him?”

                “He’s married to Professor Héderváry.”

                “Adnan?”

                “No idea.”

                “Wang?”

                “He’s the history department chair!”

                “Can’t do that then,” Falko decided. “I know somebody who knows somebody who knows Adnan.  Let’s go from there and see what happens.”

                “I am _not_ involved in this, stop including me.”

* * *

                Feliciano Vargas felt like crying and he hated himself for it.

                Antonio didn’t need _tears,_ he needed strength, and functioning adult who could support him; not an out-of-work _art restorer_ who had to live with his _little brother_ because he was in a foreign country and hadn’t gotten his work visa yet and hadn’t even ever been married, even, or had a long-term relationship, because people were okay for a little bit but art was _forever_.


	14. Visitation Rights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, _this_ is old. This is like, _'pre-_ With Sorrow _when it was still on the Kink Meme'_ old. Prompt was:
> 
> _Nation A faded away some time ago and gets the chance to come back for a visit like Grandpa Rome. But they realize that everyone has more or less been able to move on, including their lover who is happily together with someone else, and starts to wonder whether it would be better if they didn't visit anyone after all since it might open old wounds. Or maybe they get upset that everyone is able to be happy without them. The outcome doesn't matter._
> 
> Somehow this translated into North Italy getting all anxious over Germany/fem!Russia.

_‘You can go back.’_

                Feliciano believed him. Rome wouldn’t lie; not to him.

                He knew exactly the people he wanted to see, too. He wanted to see Seborga, and the Vatican, and Lovino-

                -and Germany.

                He’d wanted to see Germany again so badly for such a long time. He’d wanted to be able to hold him and kiss him and talk to him ever since he’d watched his love get the news of his death, and then again every sleepless night Ludwig had spent, running on caffeine and bread at the office, doing his best to avoid thinking about his heartbreak.

                He’d wanted to be there when Prussia and Romano ganged up him and forced him to finally cry.

                He’d wanted to be there when Ludwig went back to the house for the first time since the news but refused to sleep in his bed; and when he finally left the couch for his room, but stayed awake the entire night, trying to substitute a pillow for the missing body next to him.

                He’d wanted to be there when Ludwig passed one sunny day slowly working through each room of his house, packing up everything Feliciano had ever left, or given as a gift; anything at all that was too painful to look at.

                He’d wanted to be there for the first time Ludwig had gone to church since the start of the first World War; and prayed along with him with him for a chance for them to truly meet again.

                He had that chance now, but…

                Feliciano had heard the way Ludwig had told his brother he didn’t really think there was anything after death; and if there was, for Nations at least, it couldn’t possibly be pleasant.

                He could go and tell Ludwig that wasn’t true, of course, but…

                He’d seen the way Ludwig had stared in horror as Prussia finally faded away, right in front of his eyes, a few weeks later; and heard the way he’d screamed and begged.

                What if Ludwig wasn’t that happy to see him? What if he spent the whole time wishing it was his brother? Gilbert had been a part of Ludwig’s life long before he had, after all.

                And, most importantly, Feliciano had seen the way Ludwig had slowly –ever so slowly- pushed away every happy memory, every bit of love, he had of their scant few decades together, and locked them up where he didn’t have to see them.

                Ludwig didn’t want to remember him.

                Ludwig didn’t want to see him.

                Ludwig was in love again.

                And Feliciano didn’t like it.

                _She_ didn’t have any claim on Ludwig. _She_ hadn’t fought with Ludwig, together against enemies- and once, for a short, horrible time, across the battlefield. _She_ hadn’t come back after the worst war in history to find Ludwig broken and nearly dead inside, consumed with guilt and self-blame, and knelt down in front of him, and pulled him close, and told him he was forgiven and forgivable and not beyond saving and most of all _still loved-_

_She_ hadn’t been proposed to.

                _She_ didn’t deserve Ludwig.

                Not his shy kindness, or his gentle love, or his soft words.

                Not his fragile heart.

                She’d _hurt him._

                Feliciano wanted nothing more than to _kick her in the face,_ but that would be a waste of an opportunity to be able to hold and talk to a loved one again.

                He wanted to use the opportunity on Ludwig.

                He just didn’t know if Ludwig would want to see him.

* * *

Russia let herself into Ludwig’s house to do some investigating.

It had been bothering her how the two of them seemed to be able to talk about so many things- they’d even breached the subject of Gilbert a few times without any serious arguing- but that it seemed there was one subject that, by unspoken agreement, neither of them ever brought up.

Feliciano was not to be mentioned.

Ivanka wasn’t exactly sure when she’d become aware of the fact that it just wasn’t something you did around Germany, but she’d realized it now, and she didn’t like it.

Ludwig would talk about his brother, with some prodding, and often of his own volition when he was drunk. But even in his most inebriated moments, which Ivanka had been around long enough see now, he never spoke of his deceased love.

She stood in the living room and looked around.

The first time she’d been in here, she’d been surprised by the lack of artwork. She _knew_ that Feliciano had painted things for Ludwig; it was just one of those things that were common knowledge.

But she’d never seen anything that looked even remotely like Veneziano might have painted it. There were some framed photographs and a very few oil paintings, which from the themes had probably been Prussia’s, but nothing of the well-lit and brightly-colored works that seemed to be all she’d ever seen from the dead Nation.

She pulled a photo album off the shelf and flipped through it.

There were glaring, gaping blank spaces where pictures should have been, and clearly had been, but weren’t now.

The question here was- what had Ludwig done with the things he’d removed?

Ivanka was determined to find out.

* * *

Ludwig arrived at his house to find the door unlocked. He examined the door carefully, looking for signs of a forced entry, but found none.

It was slightly reassuring, but he entered alert for a thief, in any case.

He checked the kitchen, but no one was there.

“Ivka?” he called.

No one answered, and his thoughts immediately turned to Gilbert’s old artifacts in the living room.

No one was going to take what little he had left of his brother, _never,_ not while he could prevent it.

Ludwig entered the living room ready for a fight- but this room was empty, as well. A quick check confirmed that everything valuable hadn’t been moved and everything was still in place.

Except for the photo album lying open on the chair.

He walked towards it, only half-aware of what he was doing. The heavy, empty cream pages seemed to have trapped his eyes. He could see the slight marks where he’d removed the sticky corner tabs, and the faint lighter areas where the pictures had kept the sunlight from affecting the paper.

The one picture still on the page was one of the few innocent, innocuous ones he had of his war years. It was Japan, seated quietly in sepia before one of his garden pools, watching flower petals drift across the water’s surface in the morning breeze.

He couldn’t remember if he had been the one to take it, or Feli-

Ludwig inhaled sharply and slammed the album shut, then crammed it back into the bookshelf. It was a tight fit and hard to do suddenly, but it stuck most of the way in, part of the spine sticking out crookedly-

The ceiling above him creaked.


	15. Mortshaw Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Kink Meme prompt, this one about Germania and Rome getting married and their slew of kids now have to get along.

The interior of the car was silent as the vehicle passed the boundary line into Parnell Mount.

                “I hate it here,” Francis declared as soon as the back of the welcome sign had disappeared from the passenger’s side mirror.

                “We haven’t even gotten out of the car yet,” his father said tersely.

                “It’s not Strasbourg and I hate it.”

                “We could have at least stayed on the same _continent!_ ” Arthur snapped from the seat behind him.

                “You know very well why we couldn’t,” his father told him, trying to sound calm. “And your uncle’s family is here. Next door.”

                “You could have left us with _Mom’s_ family and come here to live with your fuckbuddy,” Gilbert grumbled.

                Dietrich’s hands clenched on the wheel and he glared at his adopted son through the rearview mirror.

                “Gilbert,” Francis murmured.

                In the very back, the youngest of the family, Ludwig, wiggled forward in the seat where he was squished in between Roderich and Liesl. He leaned forward and reached out to grab his older brother’s jacket hood.

                Gilbert reached up to place his hand over his little brother’s.

                Sebastian pushed himself up in his seat and smacked Gilbert as best he could in the back of the head for using vulgar language around Liesl.

                The car slowed and stopped in front of a set of wrought iron gates.

                “Holy shit,” Gilbert said, just in time for Roderich to slip his headphones off and gasp at the language.

                Liesl put her feet on the floor of the car and tried to see what her father was typing in the roadside keypad he had to lean out the window to reach.

                “Wow,” she said breathlessly as the gates swung open.

                A man’s automated voice came on over the speaker on the keypad as they began to drive away.

                _‘Welcome to Mortshaw Close, Mr. Adlersson-’_

* * *

                “Lovino! Lo _viiinoooooo-_ ”

                Lovino Remi cracked one eye open, annoyed that his sun basking was being interrupted.

                _“What?”_

                “Guess what!”

                He lay there.

                “Lovino, Lovino-”

                “I’m waiting for you to tell me!”

                Feliciano pouted at him for a second, then brightened up again.

                “Our house has a _name!_ ”

                “No shit,” Lovino replied, closing his eyes again. “It’s not like _we drove past the sign_ or anything.”

                “But only fancy old _important_ houses have names!” his younger brother insisted. “Torringwich Croft! Doesn’t it sound mysterious and distinguished?”

                “It sounds like we’re going to get cursed and eaten in our sleep.”

                Feliciano huffed and sat down next to him.

                “You’re no fun,” he complained.

                “I am _plenty_ of fun. I am too much fun for you to handle.”

                “You’re just pissy!” Cezar called down from the tree above.

                “Shut up!”

                “Please,” Muhammed said simply. He had his eyes closed, as though he were listening to the birds and the wind through the leaves.

                “Oh! And there’s a river!” Feliciano burst out suddenly, apparently having a sudden memory flash. “I remember seeing it in the pictures! Where do you think it is? Close by? I hope it’s close enough to walk to, I want to be able to go sailing!”

                “Me too!”

                Lovino’s eyes snapped open and he pushed himself up off the ground, toppling Antonio, whose sudden appearance had somehow put him squatting a little too close to his eldest half-brother.

                All he wanted to do was soak up the sun while it lasted, hopefully far away enough that he wouldn’t have to deal with this new ‘family’ that was coming. Father hadn’t gone and married any of his _other_ ‘friends’, and it was bad enough getting stuck with _their_ kids.

                Sancha dropped down from one of the lower branches.

                “There’s a car,” she said.

                And that was Lovino’s cue to find a more secluded spot.

* * *

                The manor of Torringwich Croft, as the engraved bronze plaque inset on the low stone wall surrounding the property had kindly informed them, had been built in the late eighteen hundreds.

                Luitgard Adlersson was _not_ impressed. Their house in Strasbourg had to have been at least a few hundred years older; though this one was considerably larger and had quite a bit more land.

                The car pulled to a stop neatly in front of the garage, and the complicated process of disembarking began.

                Francis, in the front passenger’s seat, had it easiest. He slipped out the door and around the back to the trunk, grabbed his bag before the door had opened fully, and was in the house before most of the rest of the car had moved.

                Arthur and Gilbert, on the outside of the middle row, were next. Arthur followed Francis’s example, but Gilbert took up station by the car door.

                Luitgard had to do some shuffling to initiate the next part of the procedure. Hunched over to keep from banging her head on the ceiling of the car, she collapsed her seat into the floor so the younger children in the back could climb out between the two fixed middle seats.

                As the youngest and the one not being held in place by Sebastian, Ludwig came next, exiting out the left over Arthur’s abandoned seat as Luitgard went out the right, towards Gilbert. The three of them met up at the back of the car while Roderich and Sebastian had a not-staring contest, which consisted of Roderich very pointedly putting his headphones back on, visibly turning the music up, and staring blankly out the window he was sitting next to, giving no indication of even _considering_ leaving the vehicle; _daring_ his brother to do something about it.

Sebastian hurriedly escorted Liesl out of the car and closed all the doors, then steered her toward the house.

* * *

                Sancha and Antonio were spying.

                “I want to carry my bags!” a young boy was saying, reaching up for the duffle the elder had slung over his shoulder.

                “Too heavy, Lutz,” he replied, pulling a suitcase out of the trunk. It jerked his arm down slightly, like it weighed quite a bit. “When you get stronger.”

                “He’s not going to get stronger if you never let him carry anything,” the girl next to him said, pulling out two bags.

                “I do too let him carry things!” the boy retorted, and put the suitcase down.

                “Here,” he told the smaller, carefully unhooking a covered cage from a cord tied across the inside of the trunk. “You carry Vogel.”

                _“Really?”_

He smiled indulgently.

                “Yeah, really. I wouldn’t tell you to if I didn’t think you could do it.”

                The young boy took the cage with an air of extreme concentration.

                “He’s so _cute!_ ” Feliciano exclaimed loudly, and Sancha and Antonio scrambled away as he dashed through them towards the newly-arrived car to grab the little boy.

                He squeaked as he was grabbed and the cage swung, letting loose a little flurry of peepings.

                _“Hey!”_

                Sancha and Antonio decided to proceed with caution. The boy who the cage belonged to seemed angry.

* * *

                Francis went up three flights of stairs to the top of the manor before he found a room he liked, then locked himself in it.

                His bag thunked against the floor beside the door, and the birdcage he placed on the bedside end table, pulling the cover off so the bird inside could survey his new surroundings.

                “So, Pierre,” Francis sighed. “This is America.”

                Pierre puttered around inside his cage, then pecked at the suet block anchored to the wire sides.

                Francis watched him for a little while, then resigned himself to the fact he would probably have to get up. He stood from the bed and opened the window to air the sparse room out, then rummaged in his bag until he found his laptop and the electric plug adapter. He hooked everything up and turned it all on, then scrolled through his music until he found a streaming French rock station. He turned the volume up all the way, then flopped down on the bed, the creaking of the springs under the bare mattress drowned out by the music.

* * *

                Lovino looked furtively around from atop the crest of a hill. Torringwich Croft was partially hidden behind a few similar mounds of earth –though, in Lovino’s mind, they barely qualified as hills after a life in Italy- and there appeared to be no one around.

                Hands in his pockets, he walked sideways down the steep slope to keep from gaining too much speed, and set foot on the stone-paved main road that ran down the center of the Mortshaw Close property.

                He looked up and down the road, noting the bend to his right, then began trudging up the hill on the other side.


	16. The Berliner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit of an odd one. In case you hadn't noticed, or are new around here and didn't know, I do a lot of gender/sexuality stuff in my fics, and of course with Hetalia there's history, so...
> 
> Here's what happened when I tried to do a historical Germany/Italy fic talking about the sexuality politics of a different time, and instead Germany ran off with some American guy he met in a bar. It very almost turned into a fic where I explored what a Nation/human romantic relationship would really work like, but things just never got that far.

_Saturday, June 14_ th, 1969  
Christopher Street, New York City  
10:03 PM

                Feliciano grabbed Ludwig’s hand and dragged him across the road, not bothering to check for traffic, trusting in his own regenerative abilities as a Nation and the other’s protective instincts to keep from getting hurt.

                They made it to the other side without incident, and Feliciano knocked on the door for 51/53. The peephole slid open.

                “ _Ciao_!” Feliciano greeted the eyes that appeared brightly, waving a little. “We were told this was the place for a drink, can we come in?”

                The eyes looked Feliciano up and down suspiciously, noting the overtly-stylish clothes and Italian accent before roving to their still-linked hands and flicking over to Ludwig, nervously watching the street and failing horribly at being covert about it.

                The peephole snapped shut and the door opened just enough to let them inside.

                The bouncer shut the door firmly behind them and locked it again.

                “Coat check to the left, bar to the right,” he said, jerking a thumb towards the opening opposite the entrance. “Pay the entrance fee here and sign in. First door on the right in the bar ain’t for the likes of you, so don’t.”

                Ludwig reached for his wallet, but Feliciano smiled at him and paid the three dollar entrance fee for the both of them. The bouncer took the money and handed over their drink tickets before getting interrupted by another knock. He waved them vaguely towards the sign-in book and answered the door.

                Feliciano dragged his ‘date’-

 _-Remember that,_ Deutschland _;_ ‘date’, _that’s important, the quotation marks make all the difference-_

 -over to the book and signed _‘Feliciano Marconi’_ in a flowing script.

                “That’s not your name,” Ludwig whispered to him, eyeing the man who’d just walked in.

                “ _‘Marconi’_ is Sicily’s surname,” he whispered back. “If they look, I want the Mafia to know it was _me_ in here spying on them. Pick a different surname, Ludwig, that’s how it works here.”

                Ludwig hesitated for a moment before writing _‘Ludwig Berliner’_ on the line below and passing the pen to the man who’d walked in behind them.

                Feliciano took his hand again, and they entered the bar of the Stonewall Inn.

* * *

 

 _Tuesday, June 17_ th, 1969  
The Stonewall Inn, New York City  
10:28 PM

                Feliciano and Ludwig had quickly become a known quantity to the bouncer and the barman, who was just now handing over the beer he’d had poured when Ludwig walked into the room. Feliciano had spotted something suspicious and was lingering in the vicinity of what was probably a drug deal, making an excuse of the loitering to introduce himself to a rather shabby-looking professor type quietly working through a small glass of bourbon.

                Ludwig accepted the beer with a thanks and sighed internally, reminding himself that he was here as cover for Feliciano, and shouldn’t be so disappointed with quality of the alcohol in a place that the Mafia paid the police off to overlook its lack of a liquor license.

                A young man slipped into the seat next to him and exchanged one of his drink tickets for some whiskey.

                “Used to better?” he asked Ludwig.

                “Very much so,” he replied, and then stopped himself, replaying the last couple of seconds.

                “ _Deutsch_?” 

                “My college major,” the man replied in the same language. “So are you actually German, or is the name you gave in the sign-in book a happy coincidence?”

                Ludwig wasn’t sure how he felt about knowing people paid attention to the sign-in book, but the man certainly didn’t _seem_ suspicious.

                “I’m from Berlin,” he replied, “And I actually am called Ludwig.”

                The younger man held his hand out.

                “Thomas.”

                As they shook, he asked: “So how did a Berliner come to Greenwich Village?”

                “Ludwig you made a friend!” Feliciano exclaimed happily, draping himself over his shoulders. Evidently, the drug deal was done. “I’m so proud of you! Hello there, thank you for talking to him, he’s bad at being sociable!”

                Thomas looked a bit like he’d just been slapped in the face- not an uncommon reaction to people experiencing Feliciano’s cheer for the first time- and seemed to take notice of the way Ludwig had gone very red.

                “Sorry, am I intruding on a date?”

                Ludwig told himself he had to get rid of the tight feeling in his chest, don’t think about how even _strangers_ can see you together-

                “No not really I’m glad he’s talking to someone! We’re from the United Nations, actually, a friend-”

                _“Colleague,”_ Ludwig interrupted, otherwise content to let Feliciano weave the half-lies that were their cover story.

                “-mentioned this place and we came to look and I actually really like it a lot, I’m glad he did!”

                “I _still_ can’t tell what he meant by it.”

                “Ludwig don’t sound like that, it’s _Alfred_. He probably didn’t even know what this place _was._ ”

                “I’m not as certain about that as you are.”

                “ _Fine,_ Mr. Grumpypants- _oooooh,_ **_Ludwig,_** come on come on I know this song-”

                Ludwig let himself be dragged away from the bar, giving Thomas an apologetic look as Feliciano towed him onto the dance floor, and spent the rest of the night trying not to hold his friend too close, smile too sweetly in reply, kiss him at the end of a slow dance…

* * *

 

 _Thursday, June 19_ th, 1969  
The United Nations, New York City  
9:17 PM

                “Ludwig! Ludwig, you’re late are you feeling okay?”

                Feliciano pushed the door to his friend’s room open.

                “Ludwig?”

                He was lying on the bed, surrounded by paperwork, on arm flung over his eyes.

                “Ludwig are you asleep?”

                Ludwig moved his arm slightly to peer up at Feliciano, now standing over the bed.

                “No.”

                Feliciano tugged at his arm.

                “Then get _up!_ ”

                Ludwig took a deep breath, and tried to steel himself.

                “Feliciano-”

                “Hm?”

                “Either you take me back there on a _real_ date, or you stop taking me altogether.”

                Silence.

                A quiet _“oh”_.

                “Um… okay Ludwig, I… erm, I like you okay, we’re friends-”

                “I know,” Ludwig interrupted him, completely unsurprised. “Please just go away.”

                Feliciano started to back out of the room.

                “I guess I won’t be going back, then,” he said quietly, and closed the door.

                Ludwig shoved the papers off the bed and tried to sleep.

* * *

 

 _Saturday, June 21_ st, 1969  
The Stonewall Inn, New York City  
10:36 PM

                “Hello again,” Thomas said, bringing his whiskey over. “No Italian today?”

                “He had to go back to Rome,” Ludwig lied. He’d seen Feliciano leave earlier that evening with his brother, off to case the back allies around Little Italy and find out if any were hiding some of their fled criminals.

                “…I’m sorry?”

                “No, it’s all right.”

                They drank quietly for a while, Ludwig realizing he could forego continuously buying sub-par beer now that he was here by himself, Thomas working hard to make his whiskey last.

                “So, was it anything serious?”

                “What?”

                “Why your friend went back to Rome.”

                Ludwig shook his head.

                “It was the day he was due to leave,” he said, deciding that would be safer than trying to invent a reason.

                “When do _you_ leave?”

                “It depends,” Ludwig said after a moment’s thought. He didn’t know how long he wanted to keep coming back, and there was no reason to limit it by putting a set date on his ‘departure’.

                “Hm. Well… I hope it’s a while from now.”

                Ludwig fought down a smile and paid for Thomas’s next whiskey.

* * *

 

 _Wednesday, June 25_ th, 1969  
The Stonewall Inn, New York City  
11:53 PM

                Ludwig was annoyed at himself for arriving late to Stonewall, but he’d returned to Berlin the Sunday previously and had been taking shameless advantage of a Nation’s ability to cover more distance than could ever be physically possible in a single step to walk from Berlin to Greenwich Village when he had the opportunity and the timezones worked out.

                At the expense of his work; and there was only so long he could tolerate that, so he’d designated the middle of the week as ‘catch-up day’ in his schedule.

                It happened that he had more work to make up on than he’d originally thought, so he was annoyed when he entered Stonewall’s coat check, and almost didn’t notice how close he’d come to tripping.

                He paused with a hanger in one hand and his suit coat half-off.

                “Thomas?”

                When there was no answer, Ludwig replaced the hangar and put his coat back on completely before kneeling down.

                “Thomas!” he said louder, shaking the man on the floor wrapped up in his own coat, mostly hidden in the shadows of the empty room.

                Thomas jerked and momentarily lost his sense of equilibrium as instinct kicked in and he tried to scramble away, still not fully awake. Ludwig grabbed his upper arm to steady him.

                “Are you all right?”

                “I- wh- yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Absolutely. Just fine. Just fell asleep.”

                Ludwig frowned, suspicious.

                “In the coat check.”

                “There was a guy earlier, a weird one, I came in here to hide from him because it’s the middle of June and no one comes in here except you apparently and I guess I was more tired than I thought?”

                Ludwig was not entirely certain his friend was telling the truth, and checked the time.

                “It’s nearly twelve- do you have to be home?” he asked, picturing an apartment somewhere, and a job in the morning to be awake for.

                “No-”

                Thomas thought of something smirked a little. He stood and held his hand out to Ludwig.

                “- do you, _Aschenputtel_ , or can you stay at the ball past midnight?”

                Ludwig snorted, but accepted, and they spent the rest of the night dancing.

* * *

 

 _Saturday, June 28_ th, 1969  
The Stonewall Inn, New York City  
1:20 AM

                The music was tolerable, Thomas had drunk an extra glass of whiskey before they’d gotten up to dance, and Ludwig was having a hard time convincing himself that his hand had wandered entirely too low down the other man’s back when Thomas himself didn’t seem to mind at all, and was in fact currently resting his head on his shoulder.

                It was shaping up to be a promising night.

                “Police! We’re taking the place!”

                Stonewall exploded in confusion as people stood uncertainly, hesitated, stopped to stare as the undercover police who’d infiltrated the bar that night went to let the Public Morals Squad in and call for more backup from the pay phone; the lights turned on and everyone blinked in the sudden illumination as the people who’d immediately run for the doors found them blocked.

                Ludwig had moved slightly away from his dance partner as he tried to understand what was going on. Thomas was clutching at his shirt, trembling.

                Ludwig knew that look of fear.

                He grabbed Thomas around the shoulders with one arm and pulled him close.

                “Lud-” Thomas started to say, and in the confusion of fear and the police calling for everyone to line up and present identification, Ludwig took a step.

                In a second Stonewall Inn was across the street and they stood in the cool shade of Christopher Park, the police activity noisy outside the bar behind them.

                Ludwig took a deep breath as Thomas processed the fact he’d traveled through a full bar, the side of a building, a police line, and a few trees, all without seeing any of it. He pushed away from the Nation and stared, sides heaving as the adrenaline spike from the police raid and the stress of breaking physics on a body not suited to it kept its grip on his systems.

                Thomas screwed his eyes shut and pressed his back against a tree, digging in fingers into the cracks of the rough bark and trying to calm his breathing through his nose.

                Ludwig stuck his hands in his pockets and waited, watching.

                “Thank you,” Thomas said quietly after a few moments.

                “You’re welcome.”

                Ludwig watched the growing crowd outside Stonewall until Thomas spoke again.

                “I… do I want to know how you did that?”

                “What would make you _not_ want to know how I did that?”

                “I- I’m thinking- uh-”

                Thomas opened his eyes a little.

                “Are you a… demon?”

                Ludwig chuckled some, and smiled.

                “No. Nor an angel either.”

                “I…” Thomas relaxed some, and smiled tentatively. He stopped clutching at the tree. “Okay. How did you do that, then?”

                Ludwig held his hand out.

                “ _Ich heiβe Deutschlandsseele_.”

                Thomas took it and shook, stunned.

                “Uh- _really?_ ”

                Ludwig pulled out his United Nations ID and showed it to him.

                “Wow- um, well then…”

                Thomas trailed off. The noise of the assembled crowd filled the void as Ludwig pocketed his ID and took Thomas’s hand.

                “I’ll take you home.”

                Through the grip, he felt the other hesitate.

                Ludwig looked at him sadly.

                “…Not a good idea?”

                “Actually…”

                Thomas looked like he was trying not to clam up. He gestured to the park.

                “Here… _is_ home. I- There used to be another bar I went to, but it got raided, and the police arrested me even though I had my ID, and my boss found out and fired me, and my landlord, and I got evicted and I’ve been paying the door fee for Stonewall because it’s warm and safer than the park and I can get something in my stomach and there’s people to talk to and I can sleep in the coat check if I’m quiet because it’s summer-”

                A thoughtless moment, and Ludwig had kissed him.

                He froze.

                “I- I promise that wasn’t what I meant to do!” Ludwig said quickly. “I was going to ask if- er- if-”

                “ _‘If?’_ ”

                “If you wanted to come home with me,” he mumbled. “So you don’t have to sleep outside tonight. But that’s… obviously not what happened.”

                Thomas managed a slightly-shaky, lopsided smile.

                “Well,” he said, edging up against Ludwig’s side and putting an arm around his waist, slipping his hand into Ludwig’s opposite pocket. “Anywhere is better than here tonight. Is this _‘at the United Nations’_ home; or…”

                “ _‘In Berlin’_ home,” Ludwig replied. The night was _definitely_ looking up. “I haven’t actually been at the United Nations since Sunday.”

                “And just how are we getting there?”

                Ludwig put an arm around Thomas’s shoulder.

                “I’ll walk you.”

* * *

 

 _Sunday, June 29_ th, 1969  
Berlin, Germany  
9:18 AM

                Ludwig was accustomed to waking up to company in bed, Feliciano being a frequent uninvited guest for reasons that were still unclear and highly suspect- but it was infinitely better to wake up to said company kissing you.

                Ludwig ran his hands up Thomas’s back and felt him roll his shoulders at the sensation, smiling into the kiss.

                “Thomas-”

                “Hm?”

                “What time is it?”

                Thomas kissed him one more time before raising his head to look at the clock.

                “About nine-twenty.”

                Ludwig pushed him off and rolled out of bed.

                “Come on, time to get up. Feliciano will be here soon.”

                Thomas propped himself up on his elbows and watched him get dressed.

                “You work on weekends?”

                “Feliciano always comes over Sunday after Mass in Venice. Find something to wear, there’s not much time!”

                Ludwig was frantically searching for something suitable for breakfast when Feliciano let himself into the house.

                He stopped dead in the entrance to the kitchen.

                _“Ludwig-”_ Feliciano said, voice dripping in delicious appreciation of the scandalous. “You brought an _American_ home.”

                Thomas ran a hand through his hair nervously.

                Feliciano sidled up to his friend.

                “And he’s _wearing_ your _clothes-_ ”

                Ludwig scowled at him.

                “ _And_ you’ve got your hair down Ludwig, he distracted you enough you needed to rush this morning _hmmmmm_ -”

                _“Feliciano-”_

                The man waved him away from the counter.

                “You haven’t started breakfast yet _I’ll_ do it, go get your friend I’m going to see if he can learn how to make coffee-”

* * *

 

 _Thursday, November 7_ th, 1969  
Berlin, Germany  
5:02 AM

                They had a routine now for weekdays- Thomas, as the naturally-earlier riser, would get up and start the coffee while Ludwig began to wake up, Thomas would get the dogs out of the basement, Ludwig would come down and take them outside, then they’d eat and make breakfast together before Ludwig left for work.

                So it was a surprise when Thomas was interrupted in the middle of the coffee-making by a rather irate man in a military uniform grabbing him in a headlock.

                “What the _hell_ are you doing in here-”

                _“Ludwig!”_ he screamed. _“LUDWIG!”_

                The dogs barked loudly through the basement door and footsteps pounded down the stairs. Ludwig spun around sharply at the end of the steps to face the kitchen; and froze.

                “Gilbert?”

                “Lutz _who_ the _hell_ is this guy; and why is he in our house making coffee? If America still has people stationed here I _swear-_ ”

                Ludwig separated his brother and his lover and checked Thomas over for injuries.

                “Alfred has nothing to do with him.”

                Gilbert crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter, eyeing the coffee to make sure it didn’t start going badly.

                “So then why is some American in our house?”

                Thomas glanced at Ludwig for guidance, but Ludwig had the hunted look of too many people he’d known in New York when suddenly confronted with the world outside a bar.

                He was still trying to think of something to say when Ludwig grabbed his brother and dragged him out of the room into the library across the hall.

                Thomas snuck up to the closed library door and listened.

                “He’s my _lover,_ Gilbert,” Ludwig hissed.

                The responding voice was pitched low, in warning.

                “Lutz, do you have _any idea_ what a bad decision that is?”

                “So he’s not German-”

                “He’s _human,_ ” Gilbert cut him off. “How old is he, twenty-something? Forty or fifty years is _nothing_ to us but _everything_ to a human. What are you doing, planning on keeping him around and watching him die?”

                “Thomas-”

                “ _You know better-_ you know how easily humans die, _Deutschland._ ”

                It was quiet for a few moments.

                “Lutz; you like him, that’s fine. But you need to do a lot of thinking about how long you’re willing to watch him get older while you don’t. I’m going to tell you right now I think you should let him go nicely as soon as you can. You’d be better off with Feli.”

                “I _asked_ him,” Ludwig replied, the threat of tears clear in his voice. “He wouldn’t.”

                “Fifty years from now, a century, he might change his mind.”

                Thomas was back in the kitchen with the coffee when they walked out, Gilbert with an arm around his brother, declaring a day off for everyone.

* * *

 

 _Monday, April 13_ th, 1970  
Berlin, Germany  
11:57 AM

                Thomas was home sick from his job at a local café when a visitor appeared at the door.

                More accurately, he knocked, then slid over through the garden to the living room window and pressed his United Nations ID flat against the glass, pointing at it just in case the picture wasn’t obvious.

                He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to invite people into the house-

But it _was_ France, surely-

                Thomas opened the door and Francis grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him over.

                “So, _this_ is Germany’s pet-”

                “ _Excuse_ me?”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fragments of Imagination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799196) by [theMiragePrismatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMiragePrismatic/pseuds/theMiragePrismatic)




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